Little Birds
by ohmyenemy
Summary: "It is one thing to deceive a king, and quite another to hide from the cricket in the rushes and the little bird in the chimney." The little birds know much and yet we know so little of them. A look into the secrets that rule Westeros and the girl who knows them all. Can a dirty little street rat who knows how to listen change the fate of kings?
1. A Rat With Wings

Flea Bottom was quiet that night. The city never slept usually, but tonight you could hear the cats yowling and the pitter patter of rats' feet as they scurried through the alleys. There were many reasons they found themselves so alone, first and foremost being that many of the residents were now dead. A siege often hit the lowest first, and even an unsuccessful siege had casualties. The lucky scum that survived the siege had not favored as well against the friendly fire from their king. Many buildings were still smoking, making it hard to breathe so far below the Red Keep.

Those who were unharmed knew to hide. It was only the fools now who wandered the streets. Those too brave or too stupid to worry about their self preservation. Nothing but the cockroaches, she thought to herself, glancing toward her companion with half a smile. He looked back at her, not returning it. It was rare to see a full smile cross his face. Smirks were more common, anything properly condescending. He'd been quiet that night and she was beginning to wonder if he was nervous. She knew of the boy King, of his reputation for being quick to anger and even quicker to violence. Was he less certain of his position with this boy than he'd been with the old Mad King? "What's in that evil little head of yours?"

"I was thinking about your mother," he admitted.

Her half smile became whole, though it somehow looked less genuine now. "Didn't know you'd taken such a fondness for her. You've done a shit job showing it."

"Oh, my fondness was always for her daughter," he murmured, leaning closer and letting his lips brush against her ears. At least for a moment, until she put a dirty palm against his face and shoved it away. Petyr did smile now as he stepped away, allowing her to put the distance between them that she wanted. "She was a vaguely attractive woman in her time, your mother." Ten years ago, perhaps, thought Rivka, before she had ever stepped foot in Westeros. Before clients had knocked half her teeth out. Before a broken arm went without treatment, leaving it permanently disfigured. Before Petyr Baelish had entered their lives. "You might be, as well, one day soon. The rest of you will grow into those eyes."

She cut him a dirty look with said eyes. They took up half her face, far too large for the rest of her features, giving her an alien look. She'd never been considered beautiful, but his opinion on her eyes seemed to change daily. Most days he thought they'd be quite useful for certain customers who preferred a younger stock. It gave her the innocent look that they liked, though he knew her to be far from it. "I am not your whore, Littlefucker," she answered, stepping away from his quickly.

Petyr wondered briefly, foolishly if she feared some sort of reprisal for the nickname until he heard the footsteps. She'd always had much better hearing than he thought anyone capable. Perhaps she just knew how to listen better than he did. What surprised him even more was that there was only one set of footsteps. The previous king wouldn't go to the bathroom without half his Kingsguard, but here stood Robert Baratheon, alone in the pits of Flea Bottom. "Your Grace," he greeted the boy, bowing deeply.

Robert eyed him for a moment before spotting the girl at least ten yards away, her head barely peeking around a building. "Lord Baelish," he responded, his eyes still on the girl. "I had not imagined your Master of Whisperers to be a child."

"They're called Little Birds for a reason," answered Baelish.

"Why is this little bird hiding from me?" he asked. "Come here, girl."

Rivka stepped into the dimly lit alley a bit further, but drew no closer to the two men. "Made the mistake of being within the Mad King's reach once," she answered, gesturing with dirty fingers at the mark along her neck that reached up across her jaw. Even from a distance, Robert recognized it as a poorly healed burn. "Once," she repeated.

"And how did you earn his wrath?" the boy king inquired, fighting off a smile. The list of imagined slights that might've earned her the scar was never-ending.

"Called him m'lord," she answered. "I was six."

"Even a dirty little street rat should know her courtesies," he said, though with a notable lack of sincerity. From the little she knew of Robert Baratheon, he was not a man bred for his current position. He preferred his place on the battlefield to a crown on his head and was likely going through a refresher course for his own courtesies. "Did you ever make the mistake again?" She shook her head. "Lord Baelish, you have served your purpose. Remain within my sight and see all favor you have curried with this introduction disappear."

Littlefinger did not need to be told twice. Rivka watched him leave before looking to the freshly crowned king. "Why did you come here alone?" she asked. Flea Bottom was a dangerous place for anyone, but especially for a king. Even a king so impossibly large. He towered over her and had well over a foot on Petyr, as well.

"It is not your place to question the mind of a king," he informed her curtly. "You've served a king since you were six and yet you are still in rags. The whispers you hear must not be worth as much as Littlefinger boasts."

Rivka almost smiled at that. Almost. "A dirty little street rat in silks gets noticed."

"Even shoes are too conspicuous?" he asked, gesturing to her bare feet.

She lifted one up, inspecting the bottom of her foot. It was as black as the night sky, caked in dirt, blood and much worse, but it didn't hurt. Her skin was thick and hard and she felt nothing when walking on the cobbled streets. "I've not got skin as delicate as yours, Your Grace."

Anger bubbled up in Robert's stomach at the insult. No, he realized, not an insult. Even in the dark he could see the impish twinkling in the green eyes that were far too large for her face. She was teasing him. The fucking audacity. "Come and see how delicate it is."

"Why d'you want me to come over there so bad?" she asked, "So you can kiss me?"

It took a moment for Robert to register that she had in fact asked him that question. That he hadn't made it up in his head. That he had to respond to the question before her smile grew any wider. "Why would I want to kiss an ugly little thing like you?" All the women in the realm were clamoring for the opportunity to marry him now, why would he waste a second glance on a child caked in blood and shit?

"S'not my place to question the mind of a king," she replied with a shrug, helping Robert to understand why Aerys had felt the need to harm her. He took a step toward her that she promptly mirrored with two steps back. "No," she said firmly, on the balls of her feet as if ready to make a break for it at any moment should he continue to pursue her. "Is your memory so short, Your Grace?" she inquired. "Mine, I fear, is much longer and the stories of Rhaegar's body have not been forgotten."

A smile tugged at the corner of Robert's lips. It was a fond memory for him, not a fortnight past, caving in the chest of the Targaryen cunt who'd stolen Lyanna away. "Littlefinger told me you do not go to the Red Keep," he said. "Did he lie?"

"I've never gone at King Aerys' command."

"And my command?"

"That I intend to heed even less," she assured him with a grin.

"You might find my consequences for disobedience more severe than his," warned Robert.

"Never doubted it, Your Grace," she replied. "Have you a need for me in the Red Keep?"

"I have no intention of coming to Flea Bottom whenever I do find need of you."

"You've forgotten Pet—"

"I've not forgotten anything. The fewer mouths involved the closer I will find myself to the truth. What need have I of Littlefinger when I have access to you?"

Rivka's eyebrows shot up, her eyes widening and becoming disturbingly larger. She was an odd looking creature and he found her strangely unsettling for being a third his size. What was that look? What was that smile? Did she expect him to bend before she did? "Petyr knows how to find me," she reminded him simply, and there was so much hidden in her words.

"You act as if that matters," he said, his voice darkening slightly, but still, she did not budge, nor flinch. "You are no longer Petyr Baelish's little bird, you're mine."

"I don't know if you have much experience with birds," she started, picking at something under her cracked nail but keeping one eye on the space between them. "But we don't do well in captivity."

"I have no intention of keeping you captive," he said. "I fully expect you to spread your little wings, like the flying rat you are, but you will come to the Red Keep," he informed her.

"I fear we've reached a terrible impasse. I don't go to the Red Keep … and if I am hearing you correctly, Your Grace," she stressed in a way his hand twitched and he longed for her to be closer so he could wrap his hands around her neck until her ugly little face turned blue. "You don't plan on visiting me in Flea Bottom … so is this the end of our relationship?"

"Hardly," he almost growled and she smiled again, but he relaxed ever so slightly when he noticed her tense, as if she were ready to take off at any moment. He felt his shoulders relax, at least as much as his temper allowed him. "I have expectations from you. The first of which is to find out how loyal the small council still is to their old King. I need to know about the Wildfire, where they got it, where they kept it, and if there is anymore."

"Plans for burning the rest of the city?" she asked but didn't wait for an answer. "That all?"

Robert wasn't sure he wanted her to flitter off just yet. He'd given her a task, he'd given her expectations, but he didn't know if she wasn't planning on returning to him with information, or more infuriatingly, if he would end up hearing it from Petyr and not her own lips, "I may not come to Flea Bottom to hear your secrets, but I have no qualms with taking your life in the sewers you crawl through should you disappoint me." He barely managed to see her look of disinterest before she was skittering off and out of sight.

A/N:

I know this is not the typical story on for Game of Thrones! It seems that they're all about Robb or Jaime or about being a secret Targaryen bound to rule Westeros from atop a dragon! As much as I love those stories, I prefer the lesser known characters or the characters who don't have quite as obvious of an effect on the story.

I chose to write about the early years of Robert's reign. We know so much about the rebellion itself and about the time after, but his actual rule was so lightly covered. I'm not a big fan of the "he was fat and drunk and useless" for his entire reign narrative, so I decided to try to make this period of Westeros history a bit more interesting. You'll be seeing lots of Robert, Jaime, and Ned and ... frankly, anyone else you're interested in. If there's someone from this time period you've always wanted to read more about, please don't be afraid to ask and I'll see if I can fit them in. :)

PS. Yes, I know Petyr is an anachronistic error. :P I needed his character exactly how he was in the main series. Please forgive me for not having him as a scrawny dweeb fighting for Cat's love at the Eyrie.


	2. An Easy Life

The port felt like an odd place to be after spending the evening in the company of a king and one of the wealthiest men in Westeros. One might imagine the port to smell a bit fresher than the rest of the city, given its proximity to the sea, but that was … quite incorrect. Even Rivka's nose twitched at the stench that overwhelmed her. Sailors were stumbling around the cobblestones, covered in their own piss and vomit from spending too much time at the local tavern.

Whores were stumbling out of alleyways covered in dog or horse shit after copulating in the nearby stables or kennels. It was not the sort of place she wanted to be, but necessity forced her hand. Ten years ago her mother had been one of Petyr's top whores, with her thick dark hair, tan skin, and golden eyes. She was a rarity, considered exotic, and men would pay top dollar for her … until her beauty started to fade.

He had kept her in his Flea Bottom brothel for a few months as a favor to Rivka, but he wouldn't even do that anymore. She frightened away his customers, he reasoned, and so now her mother was here. "Mama," she called gently, tapping her foot against the woman currently incapacitated in the stables stall. She nudged again and again until the woman let out a startling gasp and sat up sharply, her hair sticking out in awkward directions, hardened with her own bile. "Did you eat yet?"

The woman shook her head, sticking out her good hand without a word. Rivka handed her the loaf of bread and sat down across from her, watching as she tore into the bread and shoved it into her mouth without speaking or giving her daughter a second look. It had been a long time since they'd spoken and Rivka was not entirely sure the woman still could speak. Or perhaps she was simply too ashamed.

x-x-x-x-x

Her first task had been a simple one. She already knew where the Wildfire was kept. She already knew who made it. She was surprised no one had shared the secret with him to gain favor, but she didn't mind her first job being an easy one. It meant that Robert Baratheon truly did not understand her skill set or her knowledge. But she knew everything. She knew how little he wanted to be king, she knew how tense things were between the seven kingdoms and how shaky his foundations as a ruler would be. She did not imagine she would be dealing with him for very long before someone a bit more competent took over.

Another thing that Rivka was aware of was the fact that the king was coming down from his precious Red Keep that afternoon, for one reason or another. Before the sun rose too high and the stench of Flea Bottom flooded the streets outside the walls. She bit into her apple as she walked through the streets, walking through the thin layer of ash that would cover the streets until the rains came and washed them anew. But there was no amount of rain that could wash away the ruins of half a city. The rebuilding would take much longer.

Rivka spotted him, long before he noticed her, watching him, alone, yet again, as he all but strutted through the streets, looking at the stalls and wrinkling his nose. She walked with him, moving as his shadow, out of sight, inconspicuous, leaving him completely unaware of her existence … just the way she liked it. She watched his growing impatience as he began to look around, past the stalls, at each child that walked by, looking for her.

She smiled, pleased with herself and followed him a bit further down the street as it grew more and more busy. She stepped out of the shadows, adjusting her cloak, a dirty, filthy thing, and walked with light steps, bare feet on the cobblestone and dirt, and slipped up beside him, completely unnoticed until she chose to be, "That's a nice dagger," she commented and he shot her a look, expecting her, of course, but probably not like this. "Does someone your size really have use for a blade? You seem more like a Gregor Clegane, smashing skulls against walls and the li-"

"Did you get what I need?" was his grunted response. Clearly he was feeling much less chatty than the last time she'd seen him. Perhaps the stress of his recent small council meetings was already getting to him.

She rolled her eyes while he wasn't looking, remaining completely aware of his every move, she was closer than she felt comfortable, but she couldn't very well shout secrets across the streets, and coaxing him into an alley seemed like more effort than it was worth. Keeping her feet moving was the next best thing. She was quick, she was light and she was a small target, "Of course," she said. "You needn't leave your precious Red Keep to find Wildfire. As for your small council, who shall I start with?" Robert cut her an annoyed look out of the corner of his eye. "Pycelle is certainly not harboring loyalties toward any Targaryens, dead or alive, Petyr-"

"That doesn't mean he's loyal to me," observed Robert.

"No, it does not," she agreed.

"Do you enjoy making life so difficult for yourself," wondered Robert as he continued along the cobbled street. He wondered distantly how odd the pair must look together, he in his finery and she in her filth. They were an unlikely duo and had earned more looks that he cared for. He had wanted her to come to the Red Keep for more than his own convenience.

"Wouldn't know what to do with an easy life," she said. "You need not worry about Pycelle for the time being."

That was the end of their conversation, as far as Rivka was concerned. She'd given him the information he'd asked for, or as much of it as she intended to give. But Robert was not quite done with her and reached out to catch her wrist before thinking better of it. "Wait," he commanded instead and she hesitated, falling into step beside him again. She was a tiny little thing, he noticed, it was more obvious the closer she was. She barely surpassed his elbow, and the wrist he'd nearly grabbed was no wider than two of his fingers. "You said I don't need to worry about Pycelle. That means I need to worry about someone else."

"A man who knows your secrets is dangerous indeed," she answered, flashing a smile that almost made him consider it a threat.

"Littlefinger," he guessed.

"Petyr is a mercenary of secrets. He sells to the highest bidder and there are few men who can outbid the King," she said, using his title almost teasingly. "What you should fear is a man who can't be bought."

Or a girl, thought Robert, but he knew that wasn't who she meant. "Tywin Lannister."

"He was quite late to join the war, was he not?" Robert watched her as she came to a stop in front of him, green eyes twinkling brightly against dark skin. He wondered if she was simply dirty or if she was from one of the Free Cities in Essos originally. It was an odd thing to see anyone with skin so dark in King's Landing, and even rarer to find dark skin and light eyes. "I hear whispers his daughter rides for the capital as we speak. I wonder what she hopes to gain … or who. Your children will be lovely."

"Cersei Lannister," Robert muttered, casting his gaze off as he let the information set in; of course now that he was king, there would be pressure to take a wife from not only his hand, but the rest of the council as well, as soon as he assembled one he could remotely trust. "Tywin Lannister won't be an issue."

He didn't want a Queen. He wanted his realm.

"Of course," she muttered, not even trying to hide her rolling eyes. "I had forgotten your expertise in politics. I am certain you'll have no trouble at all with such a dimwitted man as Tywin Lannister."

"Information is all I expect from you," he said. "If I wanted your advice, I'd put you on my small council."

Rivka hesitated for a short moment, trying to imagine it. "Duly noted," she said with a quick bow of her head. "If that's all you were needing …" Robert glanced down at her, or at least where she had been, to find she'd already gone. Likely disappeared down the alleyway they'd just passed. He shook his head, feeling annoyed by her constant need to disappear, but not entirely displeased that he could escape the stench of Flea Bottom.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The little brat's information had not proven incorrect. Cersei Lannister arrived in the capital not two days after she'd warned him of the impending power play and he was fuming. She was a beautiful woman, he was sure, considered to be one of the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms, but he found her repulsive. She looked like her brother in a dress, and she had her father's eyes. Always planning, always scheming, even as she sent him her most seductive gazes. He wondered what she'd look like without eyes, after he carved them out of her skull.

"If you continue to stare at her with such intensity, she'll think you've fallen in love with her," Ned warned him from his seat at his side. Robert gave him a sidelong glance, blue eyes meeting grey, and he smiled. "She doesn't know you as well as I do."

"By gods, Ned, I won't marry that woman," he said firmly, loudly, almost loud enough, Ned thought, for the girl herself to hear.

"You'll have to marry someone," he insisted.

Jaime watched as she threw her golden hair over her shoulder, laughing at something someone had said. No, she was practically giggling, like a girl half her age. Cersei never giggled, she rarely laughed, and it was not a sight he particularly enjoyed. Mirth did not suit her, especially when so forced for the amusement of the king.

He understood why his father had done it, and he had been on board for the most part. He preferred Cersei in King's Landing where he could see her, where she was within his reach. But he had guarded the door for Aerys on the rare occasion when he had summoned the Queen to his chambers. The screams and the cries were forever ingrained in him, and he did not wish to hear those sounds from his sister. He'd become a Kingslayer twice and he doubted he'd be forgiven a second time around.

x-x-x-x-x-x

It was rare for Rivka to be summoned to the nicer of Littlefinger's brothels, but she never minded. There was usually fresh fruit out on tables, kinds she'd never seen before, and she always loved sneaking a handful into her pocket when no one was looking. Sometimes, when she was really lucky, Petyr even allowed her to eat some.

She contemplated walking through the front doors of the establishment, but that meant explaining herself to the armed sellswords that guarded it. It was always difficult to help them understand she had been invited and usually ended with Littlefinger hearing the scuffle below and coming to intervene. It was usually easier just to scale the building and slip in through the window in his office, so that was her plan for today.

She grabbed the stone of the building with dirty, calloused palms and heaved herself up. She was strong enough, despite her size, and found little difficulty in scaling the side of the building. The closer she got to his office, the louder the moaning became and she wondered if he was sampling some of his own wares. Part of her considered climbing back down to go through the main doors, she didn't want to walk in on that, but a stronger part of her delighted in potentially embarrassing the man who so loved to embarrass her.

Silk curtains blew in the wind, whipping her in the face as she grabbed onto his windowsill and peeked her head up. To her supreme disappointment, she found that Petyr was fully clothed, his back to her, and several feet away from the women moaning and groaning. She pulled herself up the rest of the way and made herself comfortable in the windowsill, watching as he scolded the moaning woman for her theatrics. It wasn't genuine, he said, and she'd be getting shipped down to the Flea Bottom brothel if she couldn't get it right.

It was no wonder, Rivka thought, watching as one woman shoved her fingers in and out of the other woman. She could only imagine how much it must hurt and she thought the woman was doing quite well just by not shrieking out in pain. Littlefinger, however, was less impressed. He let out a groan of his own, this one of frustration and turned back to his desk, spotting her in the window. She grinned at how he flinched at the sight of her. "There are doors here, you do realize," he informed her.

"I've never noticed," she replied dismissively, looking past him to where the girls were still putting on a show. "Why are they doing that?"

Petyr glanced over his shoulder at them, looking almost as if he'd already forgotten their presence now that she'd arrived. "Practice," he said, before glancing back at her. "Most women don't know how to be fucked. You have to teach them."

"Is it always … like that? Why do you do it if it hurts?"

"Hurts?" Petyr repeated and the two women giggled from their place on the chaise. "Oh, sweet child … for a girl with so much information, there is still so little you know." She narrowed her gaze at him.

"I know enough," she said, crossing her arms indignantly. "I know that I've seen more pain in the brothels than anything else." Petyr's smile only grew and it made annoyance bubble in her chest. Especially with the added eye rolling of the naked women, who were comfortably draped across one another, one playing with the breast of the other.

"To answer your question," he said. "No, it is not always like … that," he waved dismissively at the women. "While sometimes pleasure needs to be faked, it's not always so. Just because some men prefer a little exaggeration doesn't mean the women are completely without enjoyment."

"They enjoy it?" she asked, eyes widening eerily. Petyr nodded, looking to the girls who were smiling and nodding knowingly, one of the women slid her hand down the woman's stomach and between her legs again. Rivka glanced away indifferently. "How. That doesn't make sense. It looks … uncomfortable," she grimaced.

"Would you care for your own demonstration?" he asked, leaning towards her with a grin. She raised her eyebrows slowly as a look of disgust spread across her face. "Oh don't look so scared—"

"I'm not scared," she said quickly. She wasn't afraid of anything. "It just looks so … gross." She glared at the two women who were now kissing, and rolled her gaze back to Petyr.

"Rivka," her heart thumped at the sound of her name on his lips, his voice was low, much different from how he usually spoke to her. "Your greatest strength is in knowing the truth of things … you're getting older, shouldn't you expand the reach of secrets?"

"How is that a secret?" she asked indignantly.

"Do you want it or not?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Rivka narrowed her gaze at him, feeling as if he were challenging her.

"… yes," she said slowly. Petyr's smile grew as he stood. He snapped his fingers loudly and the girls immediately left the room, shutting the door firmly behind them. Rivka's heart skipped a beat as he stood and took a step towards her. She straightened in her seat and leaned back away from him as he approached her, offering her his hand. She eyed it suspiciously before taking it. He pulled her up before bringing her to sit in his chair and walking around behind her.

"You have a very misconstrued opinion of intimacy," he said, his hands on her shoulders as he rubbed them gently. "Who can blame you, what with where you came from … what you and your mother have been through, what you've seen in the brothel's in Flea Bottom …"

"It's all been the same," she informed him. He moved his fingers to her long neck, trailing them gently up and down. She shivered slightly at the sensation.

"There are many things a woman can feel, not just pain, or discomfort—"

"I'm feeling discomfort—" she tried before his fingers trailed along her exposed collarbone. He sighed and she could hear the smile in it as he leaned close to her … her eyes fluttered as his hot breath hit her ear.

"Relax, little one," he said, his other hand slipping down the middle of her chest but she tensed instead. How could she relax when he was touching her? It was something she frequently avoided, it was dangerous to allow a man to be his close, to allow anyone to put their hands on her—she jumped when his hands ran across her waist and thighs, he was pressing the upper half of his body over her and she squirmed slightly when his hands slipped back up and under her shirt.

She swallowed, her heart pounding, "A woman has many sensitive areas," he informed her, and she jumped when his hand cupped her breast.

"I don't—" she tried.

"Shh," he said in her ear. "How can you not know the secrets of a woman when you yourself are on the cusps of becoming one?" She clenched her hands at her side, her breath coming shorter as he stroked her, she gasped when his other hand slipped down and eased her legs apart. She opened her mouth to protest but no words came out and she couldn't get them out. Part of her was intrigued, part of her wanted to know if there was any relief to whatever longing she suddenly had that he was reaching for. Her eyes had drifted close but shot open when he was slipping his fingers even further.

She let out a sharp gasp, slamming her head against the back of the chair but Petyr's gentle voice was there to calm her down, "Don't think too much about what's happening," he told her. "Just surrender yourself to what you're feeling." She focused on keeping her breathing normal, but found everything so hard to control as he played skillfully between her legs.

She twitched, she squirmed, she found herself letting out a moan of … pleasure? "P-Petyr …" something was happening and it scared her, it made her uneasy, she wasn't sure she wanted it … but he wasn't stopping, in fact, he was moving his fingers faster and fast, rubbing and stroking, she couldn't even be sure, she was listening to him, losing herself to her gasps, how hot her body had suddenly become—

She suddenly let out a sharp cry, pressing herself against the back of her chair as Petyr's hands carefully slipped away, rubbing her shoulders gently as she stared across the room, her heart slowly returning to a normal pace. "So … little bird," he muttered into her ear. "How do you feel?"

Her hands were trembling, "Fine," she lied and he chuckled, he stroked the back of his fingers down her check and across her thick hair.

"Excellent," he said, walking in front of her and leaning against his desk and crossing his arms across his chest. "Now, the reason I summoned you …" She looked up at him lazily, trying to process his words, but her head felt heavy, her body was tired, she wasn't as alert as she usually was. Was this what sex did to women? Not that they had had sex, but it had to be much of the same … right …? "It seems our young King is attempting to pull his secrets directly from your lips. What is it he's been requesting from you?" he asked, eyeing her carefully.

"Wildfire," she answered a bit dumbly, her head still struggling to catch up to the situation and conversation she was now in. If she had learned anything from her demonstration, it was that sex made you stupid. "He wanted to know where the wildfire was."

"And did you tell him?" asked Petyr, looking as casual as could be while she still struggled, while her whole body still felt warm and tingly, but she somehow felt exhausted despite having done nothing.

She shook her head, trying to remember what exactly she'd said. "I gave him a hint," she said. "I said it was in the Red Keep."

"You think it wise to anger a king?" he asked, a hint of a smile at his lips as he imagined the boy's fury. He was perhaps even quicker to anger than Aerys but Rivka did not seem any worse for wear after angering him.

"He has no control over me," she replied, and she meant it. It had been something Petyr had worked very hard on during her more formative years. It was important that she not want things. If she had no desire for wealth, or silks, or position, then no one could control her. A creature without desire was a powerful one, he'd always told her. Our desires were what made us weak. "He asked about Pycelle's loyalties, as well. I told him it was Tywin Lannister he should worry about."

Littlefinger actually let out a chuckle of amusement at that statement. "You would sow a seed of mistrust between the two most powerful men in Westeros?" he inquired, and she might've thought she'd made a mistake had he not been laughing as he asked. "Have you grown a taste for war?"

"He should've been kinder to me," she answered. He was always so rude, so condescending. She didn't like being called a dirty little rat. "He's cut you out of the equation."

Petyr did not need her to tell him that. He was already more than aware. Aerys had come to him daily, begging for any sort of scrap of information he could use. Robert had not spoken to him since he'd introduced the boy to Rivka. At first, he'd just assumed the boy was less paranoid than his predecessor, but then he learned of the boy's many trips to Flea Bottom. It was not difficult to put two and two together. "Are you ready for me to be cut out of the equation?" he wondered.

The room wasn't as foggy as it had been a few moments ago as she considered his question; no, she didn't want him cut from the equation. He was a sieve, he was the window she could look out from, that she could whisper her secrets through and the third party be none the wiser. She was safer that way, and being at Robert's side, being the one to pass secrets … left her feeling incredibly vulnerable. "What if I tell him a secret he doesn't like?" she inquired.

Petyr remained silent and she glanced up at him expectantly, "The new King's temper is just as quick to ignite as the last's," he said. "What you need is an ally," he said. "You need me, to make sure whatever secrets he asks for are really secrets he wants to hear."

"What use would you have?" she asked with a knowing smirk. Petyr had an absurd talent with manipulating secrets to his will. They were a team, she with her ability to obtain whatever secrets she wanted and him … her heart fluttered slightly as she met his gaze again. She stood, her knees shaking slightly, she gripped the back of the chair. "I need to go," she said finally. "If there's nothing else."

"Rivka," he said, not moving from his spot as she went to the window. "There's a door …" She gave him an indignant look before crawling on to the windowsill and slipping out of sight.


	3. A Home

Weeks had gone by with no further visits from the King. She hadn't seen Petyr in equally as long, and decided he was due for a visit. She had important things to discuss. Things they'd never quite discussed before, and she could feel an anxious bubble growing in the pit of her belly as she grew closer to his brothel.

Petyr was surprised to see her, having not summoned her, and was even more confused by her decision to enter through the front door. Something must've been wrong and he could only assume it had something to do with her visits from the king. He opened his mouth to ask, but she was quick to speak. "I want a home," she stated, doing her best to look casual though Petyr could imagine how anxiety filled she was.

"A home," he repeated, trying to wrap his mind around it. The girl had never stayed anywhere for more than a night. She never craved the stability or the warm bed to come home to. "Why?"

"For my mother," she explained. "You owe me more than this, Petyr. I want a home. Something nice and something safe."

"If it means so much to you, your mother is more than welcome to stay in one of-"

"No," she interrupted him. She wouldn't force her mother back into one of Littlefinger's brothels. She wouldn't force her to hide away in one of the back rooms where no one would be forced to see her or hear her like she was some sort of leper. "I want something that's mine that does not have your hand in it. Something near Rhaenys's Hill."

Not the nicest area of King's Landing, but one of the safer places. The stench tended to blow south of the hill and the area to the north of it was considered prime real estate. It would be expensive. Definitely more money than he wanted to spend. "I could get her a job in the castle," he offered instead. "Something in the kitchens, perhaps?"

"We are friends, are we not?" asked Rivka. Petyr hesitated for a moment before nodding agreeably. "Our friendship has been quite beneficial to you, has it not?" He sighed now, taking a seat at his desk. "Give me what I want, Petyr. Something big, something safe. I want a building, not a room."

Petyr exhaled loudly through his mouth as he leaned back in his seat, trying to do the math in his head. He had the money, of course, he had more than enough, but this wasn't exactly how he'd hoped to spend it. "Remember this when the king attempts to make me obsolete."

* * *

A fortnight passed and then another before she was finally summoned to the Hill of Rhaenys by one of Littlefinger's sellswords. She wasn't surprised the man himself didn't take her. He was a busy man and she did not altogether mind being without him. She still felt oddly uncomfortable in his presence after her latest lesson in womanhood, despite knowing him better than anyone else alive.

It was quiet despite being the middle of the afternoon and she was startled to see what pristine condition all of the buildings were in. This area was the farthest from the Red Keep and the siege. The wildfire hadn't spread to here and her nose was twitching as fresh air circulated through it.

The building itself was beautiful. Three storeys tall and pristine white with big arched windows and ivy growing across the facade. She'd seen buildings more beautiful, but knowing this was hers made it the greatest thing she'd ever seen. The inside was even nicer. No rats or cockroaches skittering across the floor. Only soft pink curtains fluttering silently in the wind and furniture that looked brand new.

She smiled in the door frame but hesitated, wondering if she should wash her feet before going any further in. No, she would clean it later. She wanted to go in and see exactly what her life's work had afforded her. Certainly more than the average girl her age, but likely less than she deserved.

All three storeys were beautifully decorated in pinks and peaches and whites. All soft and feminine and clean. She felt terribly out of place and imagined her mother would, as well, but perhaps she would grow used to finery in the same way she'd grown accustomed to filth. The only concern now would be safety. Even in the safer area, homes that went unguarded were ransacked quickly. She would have to see about hiring a handful of sellswords before she moved her mother in.

* * *

It had been two months since he'd seen the girl. Not for a lack of trying, admittedly. He'd told Baelish to summon her a handful of times and each time he'd failed to procure her. He'd even gone down to Flea Bottom himself, assuming she'd show up like she'd done before, but he never caught a glimpse of her. She would only be found if she wanted to be, Littlefinger explained, much to his irritation. What was the point of being king if you couldn't even properly control a foreign peasant girl?

He was doing equally well controlling the lords and ladies in his court. Ned had not been joking when he'd said he would have to be married. Women from every corner of Westeros were arriving in court daily and letters with promises of more visitors were piling up. Cersei Lannister was the frontrunner, of course, and how could he refuse her? Easily, actually, but her father was more difficult to reject. Their forces had been decimated in the rebellion, as well as their coins. Tywin Lannister had the biggest army in Westeros and more gold than he knew what to do with. He was a better friend than enemy, Jon Arryn insisted.

But Cersei was not his only option. Two Tyrell girls, Mina and Janna, both quite beautiful, and Lynesse Hightower, as well. He didn't know most of the rest of the women, despite being introduced to them half a dozen times. All beautiful women and all painfully boring. There was nothing that separated them from any whore in any brothel he'd come across in his time. They didn't stay in his head, not the way she had. She wasn't beautiful at all; too skinny and small for his tastes, eyes too big, nose too wide, teeth too crooked. But he could recall every inch of her face and still hadn't figured out how to tell the two Tyrell women apart.

He needed a hunt desperately, to get out of the castle and clear his head, but a king had much less autonomy than a lord. Especially a new one.

He was tired of Pycelle's ramblings, of Varys' and Littlefinger's secret ambitions and attempts to curry favor, of Jon Arryn's pressures and Tywin Lannister's threatening presence. He couldn't get it out of his head, what the girl had said. He could only think of how late the Lannister alliance had come and about how easily it could switch. The boy Viserys had managed to escape King's Landing. Last he'd heard he'd made it safely to Essos. All Tywin need do is marry Cersei to the Targaryen boy instead and he'd have a new rebellion on his hands so shortly after his own had ended. Targaryen, Lannister, Martell … even old Mace Tyrell would quickly change his allegiance again if the other side seemed more favorable.

There was more she knew. There always was, he was certain. A smarter girl would simply tell him everything he needed to know, but she wasn't smart. She wasn't loyal, either. She hadn't been loyal to Aerys, perhaps, but she wasn't loyal to him, either. Did she whisper his secrets to Tywin Lannister? A mercenary of secrets, she'd called Littlefinger … if anyone could outbid a king it was a Lannister.

* * *

The little birds were the ones who told her this time when Robert came looking for her again. They always had an eye on him. They always had an eye on everyone. They knew when his trips to Flea Bottom were for her. It was an inconvenient thing, coming to find him where he was, especially so late at night. She wished he were less stubborn, that he would just stay safely in his castle and let Littlefinger tell her secrets. If the boy died anytime soon, it would be an assassination in the streets.

But she couldn't deny the little lurch in her heart at the sight of him, sitting on an old, broken stool in the alley they told him he'd be in. Only the light of the stars made him visible from such a distance. She hated herself for finding him rather handsome when he wasn't speaking. A strong jaw, thick hair and arms wider around than her entire body. He was what a king ought to look like, she thought. "For someone who refused to come to Flea Bottom, I find you here quite often," she murmured, alerting him to her presence.

Robert didn't look at her as she spoke and left her wondering if he had not heard her. She stepped closer, making no attempt to quiet her steps, but he did not look at her until she stood before him. A trick, she realized, to get her closer to him. It was too late to back away now and she felt almost as if his eyes were keeping her in place, dark and deep and a shade that no eyes ought to ever be. "If someone were planning to kill me," he began quietly, "would you tell me?"

"If you asked," she said with a shrug.

"Is someone planning to kill me?"

"People are always planning to kill a king," she teased. "You'll have to be more specific."

Robert stood so sharply Rivka nearly leapt back, her heart racing despite him making no attempts at getting any closer to her. He towered over her in the dark, looking more like a monster than a man. Even in the dark, Robert could see her chest heaving, panicked by his simple movement. "If you are so frightened of me why do you attempt to incur my wrath?"

"I make no attempts," she assured him with a nervous laugh. Why was she so on edge around him now? Certainly she knew he was dangerous, but she was quick. She had never been so afraid of him before, and she was not entirely sure her racing heart could be attributed exclusively to fear now. "Your wrath does not seem to be a difficult thing to earn."

"Should you not be more obedient," he asked, emphasizing the last word as he took slow, calculated steps toward her that she fought to not run from. "To a man so prone to violence?"

"Without me, where would you get your secrets?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her back and raising her eyebrows questioningly, but her heart was racing in anticipation. He was right, she should be afraid, but what could he do? He'd have to get his hands on her to hurt her, and while he was frightfully close at that moment … she wasn't so sure he would actually do anything.

"There are hundreds of flighty little birds in this city, thousands if Petyr Baelish is as honest as he is confident. How easy you would be to replace with three or four."

She shook her head, the smile spreading across her face, "But there are none that are me," she reminded him. He clenched his jaw and looked her over: a small, tiny, fragile little thing; he could snap her little arms like twigs if he wanted to, if she pushed him far enough … "Should I hear of a name, I'll send it your way," she informed him. "I have doubts that anyone else would be willing to get close enough. You don't know how dangerous—"

"I'm dangerous," he warned.

"The most dangerous man in Westeros," she nodded in agreement, his gaze was livid as she searched for the right words. "I'll get a name," she said. "Then you can cave their skull in like Elia Martell and no one will think to cross you again."

"You should already have the name," he said. "You know everything, you hear everything, but you haven't heard this? Why do you insist upon testing my patience?"

"Everything I do is not about you, Your Grace," replied Rivka, still watching him with concern. As paranoid as Aerys had been, thinking everyone was out to get him, Robert seemed to take the arrogance a step further. She was quite certain he thought the sun and stars rose just for him, that the fish in the sea swam at his pleasure. They were all just puppets on his strings, and she doubted anything she said could convince him otherwise.

"Is it not?" asked Robert, his eyes drifting down to her neck. Rivka's brow furrowed as she watched him, his eyes holding an odd fascination as they watched her swallow. She didn't understand his sudden interest until it was too late. She let out a choked gasp as his hand found her neck, moving far too quickly for her to avoid. She jerked away sharply but his grasp merely tightened, holding her in place against the wall. "You should've run," he lamented, looking almost sympathetic as his eyes stayed at her throat. "Why didn't you?"

It was an odd question to be asked by a man currently crushing her trachea and Rivka's head was feeling too light to think of a proper answer. Why hadn't she run? She'd seen him making his slow, steady approach. He'd learned that any sudden movements would surely send her running but he hadn't expected this attempt to work quite so seamlessly. Why hadn't she run? She took a gasping breath when his grip loosened slightly and he watched her with morbid amusement, his eyes flickering from her neck to her mouth as she struggled to make up for few seconds she'd gone without air. "No one—"

"What?" he interrupted with a smile, clearly amused that she was more willing to answer him now.

"No one … in King's Landing is plotting against you," she said. "I haven't heard anything from anywhere else."

"That is good to know," he said, though he didn't look particularly interested in the answer he'd wanted so badly a few moments before. He was distracted now, more interested in what was in his hands than any future threats he may need to deal with. "But that was not the question at hand. Why didn't you run?"

Rivka tried to think of an answer that would please him as his grip loosened again. Her throat was still throbbing but he was not holding it now. Instead, his fingers held the nape of her neck gently as his thumb trailed across the length of her vertebrae with a touch so light it tickled. His thumb soon found her jawline instead, and his fingers took preference on her cheekbone. Each touch was featherlight, more gentle than she thought his hands capable, and she had no interest in waiting around for his touch to harden. His fingers brushed against her brow for a fraction of a second before she was gone, pressing her own hands against the wall behind her to propel her faster down the alley, her feet moving faster than they'd ever gone before.


	4. Everything Has A Price

She couldn't sleep. Not that she slept through the night often. She'd usually find a nook, a tower, an empty perch, and catch a few hours of sleep before waking up with the sun. It was never very comfortable, but she'd learned not to look for that. What did she need a soft feather bed for? Staying in the same place was dangerous too, having any sort of routine was dangerous and even the most unobservant peasant would notice someone like her crawling out of the same hole in the wall every night.

There was something different about tonight though, it wasn't raining, which sometimes kept her up, it wasn't loud, there hadn't been any murders or bar fights, or cats in heat meowing into the earliest hours of the morning. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his blue ones, burning holes in her skin and clothes, she felt his hands like a vice on her neck … before they turned gentle, caressing, much like … her heart lurched when her foot missed the stone and she slipped slightly. But her fingers were strong and she'd scaled this wall more times than she could count … and she was almost there, she could see the curtains fluttering outside.

She gripped the edge of the flat windowsill and heaved herself up, crawling silently through, putting her foot soundlessly on the stone ground inside. It was quiet, but it was also ridiculously early. All the men that had paid for women were either passed out from wine or exertion or home with their wives. She wasn't even sure if Petyr would still be there working, if he had left or … She took a deep breath and let it out slow as she tried to calm her racing heart, tiptoeing across the room towards the bed that was on the other side of his office, through the archway where heavy velvet curtains were pulled apart that evening. Her hand gripped one as she passed through, finding the bed in dark that her eyes were more than accustomed to.

She took a breath when she saw him on the bed, or what she assumed was him, who else would be in that bed? The bed she'd shared with him so many times as a child …

Her hands were shaking slightly as she hesitated, staring at the blankets that looked oh-so inviting. She may have chosen not to sleep on a feather bed wrapped in silks and furs and velvet … but that wasn't to say that it wasn't preferred … and she remembered how warm it had been when Petyr had wrapped his arms around her.

Her heart raced as she slipped between the blankets and curled up as small as she could, leaving plenty of space between them. She stared at his mass, chewing her bottom lip anxiously, wondering if she could coax him closer with her thoughts. She needed the contact, she wanted to know he was really there … she wanted her mind to stop racing with thoughts of Robert pinning her against the wall in an alley …

She reached out slowly but jerked her hand back when he shifted and rolled over. She held her breath, watching him shift around before his hand was suddenly reaching out and touching her arm, sliding down to her wrist and pulling her closer. "It's been awhile," he muttered and her chest swelled slightly.

"Yes," she said slowly. "I know …" She shivered when his hand ran up her back to the nape of her neck and she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his chest.

"Is there a reason?" he asked her quietly, pressing his forehead against hers. She had her own home now, her own beds she could sleep in.

"No," she breathed, relishing in the sensations that were coursing through her body as he ran his hands all over her, his fingers making trails and leaving scorching sensations behind. He was moving quickly, wasting no time, like he couldn't believe she was there, like he was afraid she would flitter away at any moment. "I just … wanted to …"

She felt his nose rub against hers, felt his lips brush against her temple and licked her own, realizing she wanted nothing more than to feel them against hers, realizing that she had never been kissed before in her life and it was all she wanted at that moment. She moved her hands hesitantly up his chest and towards his face and brushed her fingers against his jaw, hoping to ease him closer while being too afraid to—

His lips brushed hers and there was a breath of a pause between them, before she was pressing hers against his and pulling away again; she stared, wide-eyed in the dark. Did she do it right? Had it been okay? "Rivka," he muttered, a smile on his lips before they were against hers again, moving rapidly, expertly, feverishly against hers and she whimpered before his hands slipped down to her hips. She grasped his wrist and urged it to move to her front and between her legs … She squirmed and ached for his touch, her body feeling hotter and hotter as he teased her, kissing down her neck before she was pulling his face back to hers, not wanting his lips anywhere else.

She couldn't keep them there though when she was throwing her head back and letting out high-pitched moans that he attempted to smother with his mouth again and again. He had one arm wrapped around her, pressing against her lower back as the other brought her more pleasure than she ever thought imaginable.

She was panting, hot and parched. Her throat was dry and she was trembling slightly as she attempted to recover while Petyr stroked her hair, brushing his lips against her brow again and again, lulling her into, finally, restful sleep.

He received the summons before the sun had even fully risen to the sky. It might've made a lesser man nervous, to know he was being summoned so promptly by his king. But Littlefinger was not a lesser man, and he understood the Baratheon boy well. It was likely he was summoned along with the rest of the small council and he had nothing to fear. His only regret that morning was finding that Rivka was no longer beside him. He'd kept an arm around her through the night, fighting sleep to be certain she could not slip away, but he must have dozed off and she had made her escape.

He left Flea Bottom swiftly, knowing it would be very unwise to keep the king waiting. It was only when he entered the throne room that he began to feel something might be amiss, as he found Robert Baratheon draped across the throne, crown on his head, but no one else in the hall. "Your Grace," he greeted upon seeing the boy, dropping down into his most gracious bow.

"Lord Baelish," Robert drawled, sitting up a bit straighter on the throne for the briefest moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and clasping his hands together.

Petyr waited patiently for the boy to give him any sort of indication as to why he had been summoned, but he gave none. "Am I early for the small council meeting?" he asked, trying to look surprised. It would be an odd thing for him to beat Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle, when both lived within the castle.

"There is no council meeting, Lord Baelish, you were the only one summoned."

Still, Robert offered no further meaning for his presence in the eerily quiet throne room. "May I inquire as to—"

"I want the girl," said Robert, looking as if he were running out of patience for Petyr's inability to read his mind. It wasn't something he liked to admit, so he said it quickly, almost too quickly for Petyr to decipher. Petyr opened his mouth slowly, wanting to ask 'what girl' but knowing it was unwise. "You know the girl I mean," snapped Robert.

Yes, he knew the girl he meant. He'd been seeing Rivka in Flea Bottom for months now, all the while never speaking to Petyr about it. He had no idea why he needed to summon him to find her now. But he knew better than to question. He bowed instead, turning on his heel toward the door. "I shall find her now, Your Grace," he offered.

"I don't want her now," called Robert, before Petyr could get too far. Petyr hesitated, turning to face the boy with a furrowed brow. "You are a procurer of whores, are you not?"

It was rare for Petyr to find himself speechless, but he found himself without a clever remark now as he stood, practically gaping at the king. "She is not one of them," he finally said.

"Everything has its price, Lord Baelish," said Robert, sitting back on the throne now. "I believe it was you who told me that. What is the girl worth to you? You've always been an ambitious man. Is it a title you want? A castle?"

"I fear you are … overpaying, Your Grace," Petyr replied slowly. "Women are not usually purchased with castles."

"Women are not usually purchased by me," replied the king. A lie, admittedly, he'd done more than his fair share of whoring in his youth, but he'd not laid a finger on a woman since taking the throne.

"I have many whores who have a similar look, if that is what you desire. Women far more beautiful who will cost you far less."

"I have no interest in prolonged negotiations, Lord Baelish. Tell me what it is you want for the girl and it is yours. But continue to try my patience and I will begin taking things instead of giving them. Perhaps we'll start with your little fingers?"

* * *

It'd taken Petyr nearly a week to find her, which was normal. On occasion, she was in and out of his office several times a day, and sometimes he went a month without hearing from her. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that the King's patience was not one to be tested. House words had never suited a man so well, how long would he wait for the girl?

She had shown up, as he knew she would, and the tub had been waiting for her when she did, water was immediately boiled as he offered her food. She seemed a apprehensive at first, but she never knew when her next meal would come so she wasted no time in helping herself to the berries and pastries laid out for her to enjoy while Petyr finished paperwork from across the room.

Now she was sitting in the deep tub, knees up to her chest and a pout on her face as one of the servants scrubbed her hair with rose scented soap and another one had an arm pulled out from her body and was washing it roughly. Petyr glanced up on occasion to hear her grunting in protest. He'd seen her clean maybe a handful of times since she was six. Part of him was looking forward to seeing her cleaned up, bright eyed and in a clean gown … the other part of him was dreading it. She'd be sent to the Red Keep, on his orders. She'd be brought to the King's chambers, paraded through the halls, no doubt, what fear did the king have of bringing her through?

She hadn't even asked why, it had been in her big green eyes, but she never put words to it. She didn't ask questions often and had been especially agreeable in recent weeks. Petyr looked up as a pitcher of water was dumped over her head and she shook her head out, spraying the servants with water and looking quite pleased with herself. He chuckled under his breath and looked back down at his paperwork, realizing he had written the same line three times.

There was a knock on the door and he looked at the servants, busy holding Rivka down while one attempted to wash her feet. He stood, straightening his tunic before walking to the door and opening it carefully to see the seamstress outside with a lovely gown of silk and myrish lace. He took it from the half toothless woman and brought it inside, laying it against a lounge chair and looking to see the two servants now drenched in water, no one seeming triumphant.

"Are we nearly done?" he inquired of them, receiving dirty looks from all three.

"I'm done," Rivka said, standing up and crossing her arms indignantly, sticking her nose up in the air slightly. The servants looked expectantly to Petyr, waiting for his approval. Petyr approached the girl, each step closer he took the lower his gaze went until he was standing in front of her, looking down at her small, naked frame, glistening with bath water, her thick hair drying faster than the rest of her.

"Are you?" he inquired sweetly. "It's a very pretty dress, I'd be so disappointed if you ruined it."

"I'm done," she said, more submissively. Petyr nodded to the servants, who threw the towel around her and began to vigorously dry her off while she shouted and swung at them. Petyr chuckled again before walking over to the table of food and refreshments and poured himself a goblet of wine while she stepped out of the tub and one of the servants brought the gown over.

It took some time to get her arms through all of the proper holes, to get all the ties properly done, to get her in it and convince her to stop fidgeting long enough to get it done. The servants had left after twisting up and braiding her hair, and now she stood in the center of the room where Petyr was circling her slowly, looking her over. "So? How does it feel to have a layer of filth removed?"

"Vulnerable," she grumbled, crossing her arms before Petyr grabbed her wrists gently and held them out at her sides.

"You'll wrinkle your gown," he reminded her and she rolled her eyes, and looked away. "I have a job for you," he said and she turned her gaze slowly up towards him. "You're not going to like it though …"

"That's fine," she replied with a shrug, her brow furrowing when she found even such a simple gesture difficult to do in the dress. "What is it?"

* * *

The knight was tall, blonde, handsome and silent the entire trek through the castle. Through the Red Keep… the one place she had sworn to always avoid, every since the Mad King, at least. She still wasn't completely certain why she was there, only that Petyr had brought her as far as the castle before handing her off to the knight, who she immediately recognized as Jaime Lannister. He was a difficult one to mistake, given that he was decades younger than the rest of the Kingsguard and likely only a few years older than she was. She barely met his green gaze before he was urging her into the castle and escorting her through the halls … up the stairs … down this corridor. She wanted to ask where she was going, but her mouth wouldn't work. She'd never been in such a situation before, and while she had no doubt that under any other circumstances she could outrun the knight, weighed down by armor, carrying a long sword, she would never make it far in this dress, through dark halls that she barely remembered.

"Here," he said, stopping suddenly and grabbing her shoulder. She flinched, but his touch was much more gentle than she had anticipated, and his eyebrow shot up at her jumpiness. She looked up at him and he barely met her eyes before forcing his gaze away, clenching his jaw in the process. For a fleeting moment, she thought perhaps he wasn't going to make her go … until he opened the door and slowly pushed her inside.

She was breathing heavily as she stood just a few feet in front of the door, listening to it close behind her. It was silent in the room, apart from the cackling fire off to the side, and shrouded in shadows, with various flicker sconces strewn about. She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. There was a bed raised up a few steps on one side of the room, covered in deep gold and black silk blankets and pillows.

After several moments of standing in the middle of the room and realizing she was alone, she began to walk around it, looking it over; it was relatively small, and apart from the bed, a few chairs and a table holding a pitcher of wine and two goblets, there was little else. Her pulse had nearly returned to normal when she approached one of two large windows and peered out to see she was at least a hundred feet in the air, the sides smoothed far too much from hundreds of years of weather for her to scale them.

She glanced to the door again tiptoed closer to it, wondering if the knight had locked the door, if he was still there or if he had better things to do than—she pressed her ear against the door and heard two voices. She launched herself away from the door, stumbling slightly, but managing to keep her balance as the door suddenly opened and the new King stood there. She barely managed to see the knight still standing guard before the door was swinging shut. They stared at one another, he in a much simpler outfit than she had ever seen before, a thin black tunic with golden accents and she … in her myrish gown … that he seemed to notice as she watched him look her over very slowly as he began to approach. His hand loosened his tunic, exposing half his bare chest. She couldn't run. There was nowhere to go, she'd already checked out crevice of the room for a way out … there was none.

"Well," he said, leaning much too close as he brought his long fingers up to her shoulder and dragged his knuckles down her arm. She flinched, shrinking away from his touch … but he ignored her as he continued to circle her, his fingers dragging across silk and lace and skin and sending goosebumps all over as she closed her eyes and tried to bring herself away, anticipating a snatch, a grab, a pinch and yank … that never came. "Don't you look … clean?"

She clenched her jaw and winced at the memory of Petyr making her do so just hours before, making sure every bit of her was scrubbed and that she smelled flowery and fresh. This was why, she was realizing, her heart cracking each moment that passed. He stopped behind her, leaning closer, so much so his hot breath hit the nape of her neck and she shivered, "Do you know why you're here?" She pressed her lips together, refusing to answer, but he merely chuckled. "Of course you do, you're not a stupid girl. He handed you over, you do realize … like a common whore." Shattered, that was a better word for what her heart was doing, it made her feel as if her very soul had suddenly been exposed. "You're mine now, little bird, like I told you you would be." he said. She shivered again when he pushed her hair over one of her shoulders and pressed his lips suddenly against her jugular and it felt as if lighting was coursing through her from the point of contact. She felt his hands slid up her arms and grip the straps of her gown before pulling them down.

Her shoulders now exposed, her ran his massive hands up her neck, while his lips trailed across her upper back, so soft, so gentle, she had to keep reminding herself who it was that was there, Robert Baratheon, the angry boy who could barely control his temper … Robert, who was slowly undoing the ties at the back of her dress that had taken so long to get on, his cool fingertips brushing against her spine and down her back as he pulled it apart.

Her heart was still pounding, racing, she could hear it in her ears, the blood coursing through her veins, her face and chest felt hot, her stomach empty, she was feeling everything so much, all at once, and she barely noticed him walk around to face her, hooking his finger under her chin. She opened her eyes blearily, her hands holding up her gown now, preventing it from dropping to her knees. She met his gaze and took a sharp breath when they were squinted, ever so slightly as he studied her, not scrutinized, not filled with their usual anger and detest … Her chest heaved before he was leaning closer, closer still and pressing his mouth to hers in a soft kiss.

Her eyes fluttered and her arms suddenly felt heavy, her knees weak. He grabbed her wrists and gently pried them away from her body before slowly moving them around his neck. Her dress slid down to her hips and hung there, she may not have been as fully developed as most of the girls in the brothel, but she had enough to keep the dress up that far … she felt herself falling into the kiss, her body pressing against his as his hands slid down her back, gripped her waist and pulled her hips into his. He let out a moan into her mouth that sent a thrill through her. She stood on her tiptoes as her dress suddenly fell to her feet.

Robert lifted her up, gripping her thighs, as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her over to the bed before easing her gently upon it, but he never broke contact, not his lips from hers, as he struggled out of his tunic, not his hands from her sides as he kissed down her chest. She arched her back as he kissed across her stomach and shivered when he came back up. She slid her own hands down his back and noticed that his pants had disappeared.

Her entire body trembled as he crawled on top of her, as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze, barely having time to register his reddened cheeks and glistening brow, his bottom lip between his teeth as he concentrated on spreading her legs … but she found herself doing it for him, grabbing behind his back and pulling him to her; she wanted him, was longing for him to be inside her. With every touch of his lips and brush of his fingers made her crave him more and she couldn't even hold back her cry of pleasure when he slowly pressed himself into her.

It stung, more than a little, but he was slow and careful and patient … and she wanted more. She pushed herself against him, encouraging him to go faster and he obeyed, moaning in her ear as he moved, kissing down her neck, never being too rough, never grabbing too hard, moving with such precision and concentration, while she lost herself in between gasps and moans exchanged between them, "Robert," she whimpered and he threw his head back, thrusting into her at an even pace. "Robert," she said again a bit louder and he moaned again, going fast. She barely managed to utter his name again before she was reaching her climax and digging her fingers into his back as she did.

He tensed above her, reaching his own … he panted above her, pressing his brow against hers as he caught his breath. Her hands were trembling now as she held onto him, their hearts beating loudly in unison. He slowly slid off of her and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Rivka curled into a ball, pulling the silk sheets up around her she watched his pale back, broad shoulders, as he gripped the edge of it, his head bowed. She bit her tongue, she didn't know what to say, she didn't think she should say anything. He suddenly heaved himself off them bed and she marveled at the sight of him. He was impossibly tall, and every inch of him was chiseled like a statue … then he began pulling his clothes back on haphazardly before walking towards the door. She sat up to make sure that he did, indeed, walk out without glancing back at her.


	5. Kingslayer

There weren't any screams. At least none of … explicit pain. And it didn't last anywhere near as long as Aerys' visits to Rhaella always had. Jaime nearly jumped when Robert threw the door open so forcefully the wooden frame cracked. The man didn't spare him a glance as he stormed down the corridor absent the girl he'd came for. That wasn't a surprise, of course, even scrubbed clean, Jaime could tell the girl was from Flea Bottom. Even a king as bold as Robert Baratheon knew he couldn't be seen with a girl like that in the Red Keep.

Jaime waited for the girl to follow suit. His only responsibility for the night was her. He'd been charged with getting her from Petyr Baelish, for bringing her to these chambers, and he was also responsible for removing her from them when the king had finished with her. But he waited … and waited … and still she did not come. He leaned his ear against the door, hoping to hear her shuffling about, or crying, or … anything.

"Fuck," he muttered, running a heavy hand over his face. He'd killed her. Of course he'd killed her. Robert Baratheon was no less a monster than Aerys had been. The girl hadn't screamed because she was dead and now he would have to dispose of her body. Where was he supposed to take her? Back to Littlefinger? If anyone knew how to dispose of a dead whore, it was Petyr Baelish.

He stood with his head pressed against the heavy wooden door, breathing in and out, in and out. It wasn't as if he'd never seen a dead body before. He'd made plenty of his own corpses. But none of them had been women and none of them had ever been … so small. She'd been little more than a child and he'd escorted her to her death.

No, he realized after opening the door, she wasn't dead. She was … struggling with her dress? She jumped as he took a loud step into the room but relaxed slightly upon realizing it was only him. He felt momentarily dejected to learn he didn't give off a particularly intimidating aura before deciding to take it as a compliment. "I can't get it back on," she explained.

Jaime was grateful she wasn't as teary eyed as Rhaella had always been. Instead, she looked mostly frustrated that she couldn't get the back of her dress closed, whirling around helplessly as she tried to grab hold of the lacings she needed. The back was alarmingly open and had it been on another woman he might've found her exposed back attractive, but this girl was skin and bones. He could count her ribs as she spun around and wondered distantly how Robert had found her attractive. He couldn't pretend to know the man well, but he'd heard enough rumors. Rumors of the countless women he'd slept with throughout his rebellion. A disgusting habit, thought Jaime, but they'd all been women. Fully grown, fully developed women, not malnourished little girls. Her face wasn't any more appealing than her body and Jaime could only feel slighted that the man continued to put off marrying his sister, or any other lady for that matter, to spend time with a little street urchin

He grabbed her mid spin to steady her and reached for the dress. It was no wonder she couldn't get it back together, the lacings had been ripped. Robert Baratheon was as tall as a tree, with arms like trunks and fingers the size of branches, of course the oaf didn't have the grace to take a dress off without ruining it. "Can you get it?" she asked curiously, trying to look over her shoulder and down to where his fingers were still pressed to her back.

"No," he said shortly, sending a wave of panic through her. Petyr had insisted she not ruin the gown, he would be so - no … he … it didn't matter what happened to the dress, it didn't matter what happened to Petyr. Jaime watched her face contort into a quick array of emotions he could only assume stemmed from the dress being ruined. He pulled his hands away from her and moved them to his cloak, unhooking it and bringing it to wrap around her shoulders. It was too big for her, it hit the floor, but it was big enough to cover her back and that was all that mattered to him at the moment. She looked up at him, her eyes big and nearly the same shade of green as his own, but she offered him no sign of gratitude. "I'm to take you back to Lord Baelish."

"No," she said quickly, sharply. Jaime's brow furrowed, wondering if she hoped to stay within the castle walls before realizing her objection had been to Baelish, not to leaving. He had definitely been instructed to return her to the man, but … fuck it, he hadn't sworn any oaths to serve Littlefinger.

"Somewhere else then."

She had insisted she would be fine once they were out of the Red Keep, but he didn't have it in him to leave her. Not in Flea Bottom in the middle of the night, not as small as she was, and not while she was still wearing his cloak. He'd be needing it back, he explained, and that seemed to be the only reason she tolerated his presence as they walked through the dark and busy streets.

The building she stopped in front of had not been one he was expecting. Beautiful and clean and tall … he'd expected to leave her outside some stables or a tavern. "Well, you've done your duty valiantly," she said, drawing his eyes to her. She hadn't said a word since they'd left those chambers, leading him silently through Flea Bottom. "Be sure to tell your king what a wonderful job of fetching and delivering you did."

Jaime's jaw clenched as he watched her step past two armed sellswords and into the home, not sparing him a second glance. It was only once he'd made it halfway back to the Red Keep that he realized he'd forgotten to take his cloak back from her.

* * *

Five months had passed since her ill fated trip to the Red Keep. Five long months and she hadn't seen him even once. Littlefinger had made an attempt to visit her at her home, but she'd promptly turned him away and he had made no second attempt. Robert hadn't even made a first. He hadn't come to Flea Bottom, he hadn't asked Littlefinger to summon her … nothing. She thought about him less and less now, but there were some nights when it was hard to get him from her mind.

Life was very different for Rivka now that Petyr Baelish was not in it. She didn't want to be his little bird. She didn't want to be crawling through the streets, hungry and tired, never feeling full or well rested. She was tired of the rags, she was tired of the dirt and the danger. She wanted rest and peace and a full stomach.

So she got it.

She had snuck into Littlefinger's brothel one night and taken what was owed to her. Less than was owed to her, she thought, but what was more than enough for her to live out her days in comfort in King's Landing. There were now six armed guards at her home with alternating shifts so they were never unprotected, and she even had servants. Well … if they could be called that.

The first she had taken in was an old woman, blind and weak and on the brink of death. Ayleen was doing better now, a bit stronger, though she'd always be feeble. She took wonderful care of her mother and was a proper companion for the woman and managed well enough to take care of things around the home.

The second had been Shae. A foreign girl, as well, though more noticeably so. Her accent was thick but she was clever and scrappy, and close to Rivka in age. Her eyes were wide and dark and her hair was black and she did a perfect job of going into town or down to the markets to get whatever they were in need of. "This man you are afraid of," said Shae, coming to join Rivka from her seat by the window. It was her favorite place to sit, high up on the third storey, she had a great view of much of the city and even the Red Keep. "He is very big?"

"I'm not afraid of anyone," corrected Rivka, though it wasn't very convincing.

"You stay inside every day because you are not afraid?" asked Shae, a hand on her hip as she gestured to the city around them with the other. It was a beautiful day after several days of rain. The city didn't smell so bad as it usually did and part of Rivka desperately wanted to go back out there. "He is big or he is small?"

"The biggest man I've ever seen," she said, feeling oddly nostalgic for the days when he ambled about Flea Bottom aimlessly, hoping to find her. How she'd loved to let him wander and waste his time, and how much she'd give to have him searching for her again.

"Big men are slow," said Shae. "You show me and I will take care of him."

Rivka couldn't help but smile at the image. Shae wasn't much bigger than she was but she had no doubt that she could do some damage to the massive man. "What if I agree to go to the markets with you today and you agree to not murder anyone?"

Shae pondered the arrangement a moment - it wasn't ideal, but she did want the girl to get out of the house, even if it meant sacrificing the opportunity for extracting vengeance on whatever man had made her want to stay inside. Finally she gave half a shrug of agreement before pulling the girl to her feet, delighted for the opportunity to reintroduce her to the sun.

* * *

The last thing he ever wanted to hear was that there was another Targaryen birthed into the world. Especially a female who could one day marry her brother, as the incestuous fucks did, and make even more little silver haired cunts. But that was the news he had received. Daenerys Stormborn they were calling her, a healthy baby girl thriving in Essos with her brother and Dorne still in open rebellion against him, no doubt emboldened by the news.

"A marriage may serve as a balm for the tension between the Dornish and the King," suggested Varys.

"It was not the King who murdered Elia Martell and her children," commented Littlefinger, drawing every pair of eyes in the room to him.

A true statement, admittedly, but a bold one, thought Robert. Maybe even a stupid one. Baelish had quickly risen to the prominent position of Master of Coin, but had simultaneously seen himself fall from favor. He didn't like to interact with the man. He never had, but now the sight of him made his skin crawl. Even his voice was difficult to stomach, each snide word spoken bringing him flashes of a girl he'd been trying to erase. "What we need is information," said Jon Arryn. "The Targaryen boy chose Essos for a reason. Who are his allies there? Who is he still in contact with here?"

"Consider it done," said Baelish, inclining his head toward the Hand.

Varys smiled from his seat beside him. "Is your reach still so long, Lord Baelish?" he wondered. "I have heard your little birds have flown the coop."

Robert looked up curiously. He'd heard nothing of this. As far as he'd known, the pair were still in cahoots, still listening around every corner and selling their secrets to the highest bidder. Had something happened to her? "Birds cross kingdoms and seas and still find their way back home," said Petyr, revealing very little. Robert wondered if it had caused a rift between the two, the way he'd sold her for a title. "I will learn what I can and report back."

The small council meeting wrapped up shortly after, with Baelish and Varys the first to leave, both eager to find the information he sought first. It was important to curry favor with a new king and most of the court was constantly trying to ingratiate themselves to him. All but Jaime Lannister. When the room had emptied, all that remained was the youngest knight in his Kingsguard, who had shown little more than open contempt for him since he'd taken the throne. But Jaime had been the one on duty the night she'd come to the castle."Kingslayer," he said in acknowledgment, smiling as the boy's jaw clenched. "I have a job for you."


	6. Mistress of Whisperers

Flea Bottom was the last place a Lannister should ever find want to himself and yet there he was. Watching, waiting, as she moved from one stall to another, sampling soaps and perfumes he doubted she ever actually used, before flittering to another to try fruit from the Summer Isles. She knew he was there. He knew she knew he was there. She knew he knew she knew he was there and waiting exclusively for her, but that only seemed to make her move more slowly while the sweat beaded at the nape of Jaime's neck and rolled down his back.

It was only when the sun began to set that she finally headed in his direction, flinching when he fell into step beside her. "Stay over there," she said, pointing her tiny, little index finger to a spot several feet away from her.

It took Jaime a long moment to realize she had in fact commanded him. He could see in her eyes that it was not as a request, but an order. A command from a child was a difficult one to follow. "And if I don't?"

"I do not imagine you've come to Flea Bottom of your own volition," she said, hefting a heavy basket filled with her recently purchased wares into the crook of her elbow. "You were sent here for something and you will not get it if you do not stay over there."

"Likely I won't get it either way," admitted Jaime.

Rivka pursed her lips, realizing the boy knight was not going to heed her command. Even in his armor, she imagined he was quite fast and she would have to rely entirely on her superior knowledge of Flea Bottom if she wanted to escape him. But her escape would only get her so far as she expected he still remembered where she lived. "Who are you here for?"

"King Robert requests an audience in the Red Keep," said Jaime, watching the smile spread across her face.

"And if I deny the request?"

"Then I am to return with the City Watch to slaughter your guards, your servants, your mother, burn your home to the ground, and request you reconsider."

Jaime expected her smile to falter, even slightly, but it only grew, as if she'd fully expected the threat. "You make a compelling argument," she said, shifting the heavy basket onto her other hip. Part of Jaime felt compelled to take it from her but he didn't think she'd let him. "Do I have time to mull this all over?" He was silent long enough to force her to look over, just in time to see him shake his head. "May I return this to my home?" Jaime glanced to the basket in her arms before shaking his head again. "Well, then," she said, letting go of the basket so it would hit the ground between their feet. Jaime watched with muted interest as a melon rolled down the street away from them. "We'd better get going."

Rivka brushed past him, knowing the way to the Red Keep quite well on her own, but Jaime caught up and passed her in three long strides. He was a knight of the Kingsguard and it was important to maintain some semblance of order and propriety while escorting her. "You look different," he commented. He didn't particularly want a conversation with her, but if she was speaking to him it would be much more difficult for her to slip away without his notice.

He saw her glance down at herself out of the corner of his eye. "I'll be as fat as a little lordling soon," she agreed, pinching and pulling at the excess skin on her arm. Truthfully, she'd put on nearly two stone, and could likely do with another. He couldn't count her ribs any more and her cheeks were not so hollow, but she had a ways to go before anyone would be mistaking her for a wealthy woman of leisure. "Provided you're not escorting me to my execution."

"You think he wants to kill you?"

"No," she admitted after a moment of thought, "but I've been wrong before. The desires of men are quite … complex."

"Not always," he said.

Rivka smiled at that, walking a bit faster until she could fall into step beside him. "They say Casterly Rock is impregnable," she said. "On a beautiful coast with mines filled with more gold than any man who's never seen them could ever dream. What simple desires have led you to forfeit your birthright to serve two kings you've despised?" She watched the muscle in his jaw work as he stared straight ahead, intending to ignore her. "I've heard whispers, of course, but they couldn't be true." He looked to her out of the corner of his eye to find her watching him closely, gauging his reaction with eyes as calculating as his father's had always seemed. "We are friends, are we not, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime swallowed, realizing he hadn't in quite some time. "Yes," he answered.

"Friends look out for each other, they keep each other's secrets," she said. "Friends don't escort friends to dangerous places."

The girl was still smiling at him, but there was an air of expectation to it. He had no doubt she knew what she claimed to know, though he had no idea how. They'd been careful since her arrival in King's Landing, unless the girl's reach extended even to Casterly Rock … "He's heard of your falling out with Littlefinger," he explained. "I don't know the man well, but I believe his only intention is to see you are still alive and within the city walls."

"And the threat of slaughtering my mother and burning down my home?"

"I feared disobedience without proper motivation," said Jaime.

He thought she might grow angry, perhaps reach out to smack him, as Cersei would have, but she merely gave him an appraising look. "Clever," she complimented, gesturing for him to continue leading the way to the Red Keep.

* * *

She had never seen the Iron Throne before and it was terrifying. Her footsteps, quiet as they were, echoed inside the massive room. Marble columns covered in golden vines lined the path way to the throne which was larger than she could've possibly imagined, with thousands of blades compiling the monstrosity of a seat. The room was so large even he looked small upon his mighty throne. Or at least less gargantuan.

He looked as different as she expected she did. No longer still wearing the armor he had clung to in the weeks following his ascension the throne. No longer was his hair long and unkempt, nor his beard. His hair had been cut and his beard was little more than black whiskers across his jaw, and she thought he looked more like a king than he had before. "Your Grace," she greeted with a dramatic flourish, bowing so low her fingers brushed the ground.

"You're dismissed," his voice boomed, sounding impossibly loud in the throne room. She cast him a curious look, wondering why he'd made her walk all that way to dismiss her so quickly, before realizing he'd been speaking to Jaime Lannister. He glanced at her briefly before giving a rather forced bow and marching out of the room. "The boy's as useless as nipples on a breastplate," said Robert when she turned back around to face him.

"I disagree," said Rivka, clasping her hands behind her back and rocking gently on her heels. "Regardless, that's hardly the way to speak of your future brother-in-law."

Robert's expression darkened instantly. It was true that Cersei Lannister was certainly the frontrunner of his marriage prospects and there seemed to be little he could do to escape her. "The King talks as he bloody well likes," he grunted.

"As you say, Your Grace," replied Rivka, sounding positively docile much to Robert's annoyance. He'd been expecting a correction, for her to make quick work of humbling him, but she offered no such fire. He wondered if she was more demure in the halls of the Red Keep, which were not so easily escaped, or if he had greatly overvalued her in his memories and daydreams. "Have I been summoned for a purpose?"

Did he have a reason for summoning her? He couldn't recall. He was certain there had been a purpose at some point, but it always took so damn long for her to show up. "Do I know where you're from?" he asked suddenly, looking her over curiously. She had an odd look, he'd always thought so, though not altogether unpleasant, he supposed.

"I'm not from anywhere," she replied, her brow furrowing at the odd question.

"You were born somewhere, were you not? It was not Westeros," he accused, though he had little reason to do so. She had no accent, she'd never spoken of any other lands.

"No, it was not," she agreed. "What answer would please you, Your Grace? To hear I made a daring escape from Slaver's Bay? That I was born from the ashes of Old Valyria?"

"The truth will suffice," he drawled lazily.

"Naath," she deadpanned.

The Isle of Butterflies, Robert recalled from his lessons with his Maesters over the year. Most of his lessons focused on Westeros, with a few on the free cities of Essos, but Naath had never ranked high on the priority list for lessons. All he knew of the Naathi people was that they made good slaves, which was why they were so often invaded. "Hm," he muttered thoughtfully, giving her a skeptical look. It didn't suit her.

He opened his mouth to tell her so, but stopped himself short when he noticed the look she was giving him. She was not so kind to pretend it wasn't odd that she'd been summoned to the throne room after five long months to discuss her heritage. "Are you considering where to go to escape all of this?" she wondered. "The life of a king is very stressful."

"There's another Targaryen," he said. "This one a girl."

"Daenerys," she said, nodding her head curtly. "They're in Braavos, if that's why you summoned me. Under the protection of Ser Willem Darry."

It hadn't been the reason for her summoning, but it was information he had needed all the same. He marveled at her ability to give him information like it was nothing when the entirety of his small council had been trying to learn of their movements for weeks. "The Martells are still in open rebellion," he added, wondering if she had a simple answer for that too.

"It is difficult to tear something down without burying yourself the rubble," she said, still giving him a look he didn't quite like. As if she could see right through him. As if all of his intentions and thoughts were transparent to her. "Why am I here, Robert? You don't need my help to crush a rebellion."

"I don't trust Littlefinger," said Robert, and Rivka struggled not to flinch at the name. It had been a pleasant five months not hearing about the man. "I don't trust Varys. I don't trust Pycelle."

"Then you are a wiser man than previously suspected." Part of her screamed to run when he stood, descending the steps to the throne slowly until he was in front of her. Part of her wanted to sprint back out of the throne room and never look back, but the other part remembered her last visit to the Red Keep and a different urge filled her belly. "Seven hells," she muttered upon seeing the look in his eye. "You trust me?"

"No," he said. "But I could. Does that make me a fool?"

"Yes," was all she could manage to say.

"You were loyal to Littlefinger once," said Robert. She'd been loyal to the man for years, if his assumptions were correct. Likely for most of her life. "I would not betray your loyalty the way he did."

Oh, she doubted that. Word was Lyanna Stark hadn't even wanted to marry him, handsome and strong as he was. It was an inability to remain loyal that had driven her from him, though she doubted Robert would ever admit it. "Shall I be your Mistress of Whisperers?"

It had been a joke, but he wasn't laughing. "With my small council as it is, I learn of problems once they've happened and work to remedy them," he said. "With you, I can prevent them from ever happening."

"I don't have the greensight," she reasoned. "I don't know what the future-"

He trapped her face between immense hands, his grip gentle as he forced her to meet his gaze. "You could have a place in the castle," he said. "Your own chambers with servants to attend your every need. Silks and jewels and perfumes and anything your heart desires."

"I don't want any of that," she said, surprised he'd mistaken her for someone who would.

"Then what do you want, Rivka?" he demanded, sounding exasperated as he finally released her to run a frustrated hand through his newly cropped hair. "Put voice to it and I will make it so."

"I want to go home," she answered simply.

"To Naath?" he asked foolishly, his face contorting with confusion before realization dawned on him. "To Flea Bottom," he corrected. "Why?"

She could see his anger growing though he did well to hide it. His time in King's Landing had taught him how to control his temper, if only marginally. "You said yourself how easily I could be replaced with three or four others," she reminded him. "It would be simpler if you did so."

Robert stared at her for a long moment, his face impassive, before he turned sharply and returned to his seat atop the throne. It was a symbolic gesture. He was no longer a boy asking a request of a girl, but a king demanding his subject. "I will give you silks," he said, hesitating slightly as he rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Or I will give you chains. The choice is yours, girl, but it will be one or the other."

 **A/N:** Yaaaayyy what nice reviews to receive! I honestly didn't expect anyone to read this story as it's a bit out of left field, but I'm thrilled that a few of you are enjoying it as this is my favorite story to write.

So, special thanks:

 _Powerof923:_ Thank you so much for the review! I am baffled to hear someone say anything I write is well written, but I'll take the compliment where I can! This is definitely a rarely covered narrative and I'm so happy to have found someone who enjoys reading about it. I hope you continue to enjoy it. :)

 _Csahn:_ I'm so happy to hear you're loving it! Hopefully it continues to stay mysterious and exciting for you. I hope I don't let you down and thank you for reviewing!

 _Yusuke Kurosaki:_ Your review made my day! It's great to hear someone enjoys my characters. I love writing Robert in particular as I get a bit of free will with him that I can't have with Petyr and Jaime. As for Rivka, I find GOT is sorely lacking in properly clever women. It seems like the show only wants to write male characters as being incredibly intelligent (ie Tyrion, Petyr, Varys, Tywin, etc) so I enjoy adding a female to the mix. Hope you continue to enjoy and thanks for the review! :)


	7. Boars and Whores

He hadn't wanted to put her in the dungeons. She'd forced his hand. He'd hoped a night or two would've been enough to convince her to reconsider his offer. The guards had explicit orders to release her should she change her mind or to come get him should she ask to see him. But three weeks had passed and he had not been summoned. The girl was as bloody stubborn as his brother, to her own detriment.

"How long do you intend to leave her rotting in the dungeons?" asked Baelish, and it was not the first time he had asked. Robert barely spared him a glance, wanting nothing less than to have this particular conversation with this particular man. "If you would let me speak with her, I could convince her to accept your offer."

"I do not share the same overestimation of your influence on the girl," replied Robert, almost wishing he hadn't. Engaging in a conversation about her showed his hand. His willingness to discuss her captivity revealed that he cared, to a man who already knew more than he liked about his interest in the girl. He'd traded a damn title for her maidenhead and had imprisoned her in his dungeons to force her to stay near him. He felt a sudden overwhelming urge to snap Littlefinger's neck. With him dead, only Robert himself would know the truth of his feelings.

But alas …

"I know her mind," argued Petyr. "I know her motivations. She will rot in that cell if you leave her to."

"Then she'll rot."

Petyr sighed, biting his tongue both literally and figuratively as he looked over his king. He was not fool enough to misunderstand the boy's feelings for her. Petyr suspected he knew how Robert felt better than the man himself did. He didn't want her to rot. It was unwise to tempt Robert Baratheon's fury, but he knew he must. His status was tied to her own, as much as he hated to admit it. He was an extension of Rivka, as far of Robert seemed concerned. His fall out of favor with the king had been synced with hers and Robert's contempt for him was likely to grow for as long as she disobeyed him. "That's not what you want."

"Careful, Lord Baelish," Robert drawled, "there is space yet in that cell for you."

Seeming to realize he was getting nowhere with such a belligerent man, Littlefinger gave a curt bow before excusing himself. Weaselly as the little cunt was, he wasn't wrong, thought Robert. There were a great many things he wanted from that girl, but a new corpse in his dungeon was not one of them.

* * *

It had taken five months to put that weight on and less than three weeks for it to fall back off. It was difficult to eat, though she was regularly fed, when everything smelled of shit and rotting corpses. Anything she managed to get down would come back up an hour later, and that only left her with a new puddle of vomit in her cell for the rest of her sentence. Part of her wanted to end it. Hells, all of her wanted to end it. To be taken up to her own chambers in the castle, to be bathed by servants and dressed all in myrish lace. But all that really offered was a quicker death than starvation in the dungeons.

Her job was a dangerous one. Her life was a dangerous one. All that kept her safe was her anonymity. Petyr had taken credit for her secrets. The target had always been on his back, but he was a lord. He had a castle and power and more gold than any man should ever need. He could keep himself well protected. How short lived her new title would be when the lords and ladies of Westeros put a face to the rat listening in their chimney.

Heavy footsteps brought her attention back to her current situation. Likely only a change of guard, she thought. Three weeks had been more than enough to snuff the optimism out of her. The footsteps had meant hope in the beginning. Hope that perhaps Robert had changed his mind, that Shae would magically break into the castle to free her, that Petyr would find a way to get her out. Now all the footsteps meant was someone new had come to watch her suffer.

Her eyes struggled to take in the man's features in the dark as he stopped in front of her cell. To mock her, perhaps, as some of the guards were fond of doing. But a second set of footsteps revealed a different man, this one much easier to recognize. "S-," she started, before breaking into a fit of coughs. It hadn't done her well to go so long without speaking. "Ser Jaime," she tried again, shifting her attention back to the first man. "Lord Tywin," she ventured.

"It's good to see your time in a cell has not dulled your wits," said the man, taking a torch from his son to sit between them. Rivka wondered distantly if he'd come to kill her. Petyr had warned her about sowing a seed of distrust between the two most powerful men in Westeros. Perhaps Robert had told him of her insinuations about him. "There are things we must discuss."

Rivka could only stare at him, willing her brain to move faster. She looked to Jaime for any hints, but the boy gave nothing away, staring back at her with a look she couldn't quite place. "I …" she trailed off, shifting her attention back to Tywin. "I can only imagine what we could possibly have to discuss, my lord."

"The king," said Tywin, getting to the point quickly, "has sat the throne for nearly a year and has not taken a wife."

"Daeron Targaryen spent-"

A raised hand from Tywin cut her history lesson short. "My son believes you to be clever. Is he wrong?" Her anxiety made way for annoyance as she stared at the man, deciding his question had not needed a response. "He also believes you to be the reason our king delays any betrothal."

The annoyance had grown to anger as she shifted her gaze to Jaime. So much for friends keeping secrets, she thought. She could only wonder how much he'd told his father. "Perhaps you're at the wrong cell," she said, trying to force a smile but finding it hurt too much to do so.

"I don't expect the peasants of Flea Bottom particularly care who their queen shall be, even those of your knowledge and skill set," said Tywin, looking her over appraisingly. "And Lannisters pay their debts."

"I hear that," she replied, clicking her tongue thoughtfully as he waited for an answer from her. Clearly Jaime hadn't told him as much as she'd feared if he was only there in the hopes she'd exert some level of influence over Robert. "What is it worth to you," she asked, "to see your grandchildren sit the Iron Throne?"

"A ship to Essos," answered Tywin, watching as the girl's eyes moved back to his son. She was wise enough to know Jaime had a hand in supplying what may motivate her to comply. "A home and enough gold for you and your mother to live out your days in luxury."

She could imagine a life there, living on the sea in her mansion, never lifting a finger for the rest of her days. She could start over in Braavos, maybe Pentos, be someone completely new. Nibbling on the corner of a very sore lip, Rivka nodded. "I suppose someone ought to tell him I've changed my mind," she said, watching as Tywin stood, nodding to his son before leaving. He was done with her now that she'd agreed and it was unwise for a man of his station to be caught visiting prisoners down in the dungeons.

"I'll take you to him," said Jaime, pulling the key from his hip and making quick work of unlocking her cell. He'd expected her to be rejoiced, to throw herself at him in gratitude, to praise whichever god she believed in for releasing her, but she stayed in her spot, looking him over. "What?"

"You're a clever boy, Jaime," she said, leaving him to contemplate why that didn't sound at all like a compliment. "I don't like clever boys."

"I apologize if I've interfered with your plans to die alone in a cell," he retorted, feeling vaguely offended at the response to him saving her life. She didn't even have the decency to look sheepish. "You get everything you want," he insisted.

"So do you," said Rivka. "You get a sister who will never leave the capital and you get me very far away from anyone who might care that you're fucking her." Jaime felt his hand flex towards his sword. There was a very simple solution to the problem this girl presented, one that did not require involving his father and promises of a seaside home in Essos. But Robert Baratheon was a very large man and Jaime feared the man cared about her, in his own terrible way. He might be upset if he stabbed the girl and the last thing he needed was that lunatic neanderthal trying to bash his head in with a warhammer. "I don't like my hand being forced. I don't like being manipulated."

Rivka watched him closely, trying to gauge his reaction. She wondered if he would apologize and thought it the most likely option. The smile that spread across his face came as a surprise. "Then I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place."

* * *

She thought her legs might give out as she climbed stair after stair and walked corridor after corridor. She'd lost the concept of time but it felt like it took hours to climb from the dungeons to whichever floor she was being put. Her head felt light and the world was spinning, but she made it. The sudden light of the sun after going so long without it was enough to make her nearly vomit again and she was quick to drop to her knees, doubled over, as a handmaiden fretted over her. "I'm fine," she insisted, rolling painfully from her knees to her ass as she took in the room around her.

The first thing she noticed were the windows, large arched frames overlooking the city below, with white curtains blowing with the gentle breeze. She'd never been so high up before but she quickly tried to put it from her mind as the thought alone was enough to make her stomach churn again. "We've drawn you a bath, m'lady," one of the servant girls said, and Rivka felt a sudden tug at her arms as two of them struggled to get her to her feet.

She didn't want a bath, she wanted to sleep. For days or weeks or months in that bed she'd spotted in the corner, larger than any she'd ever seen before. But the room was still spinning and she had barely formulated the protest in her head when she realized she was already neck deep in the steaming water.

She didn't even have time to enjoy the sensation before she was being scrubbed at, her arms lifted out of the water as handmaidens attempted to clean the stench of death off of her. She winced but didn't complain, deciding the momentary pain would be worth it to smell how clean the air was from so high up. But the handmaidens abandoned their task halfway through, standing up sharply to give a curtsy to someone behind her before scurrying out of the room.

Rivka need not turn to know who it was. "Your Grace."

"Better view than the dungeons, wouldn't you say?"

She watched as he stepped further into the room, his back to her as he rested his hand against one of the white pillars, surveying the city below. His city, she thought. His kingdom. "Have you come to gloat?" she wondered.

He took a moment to consider his intentions before turning around to face her. "No," he said, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he looked down at her. Her brow furrowed. "I should not have put you in a cell."

"The King does as he bloody well likes," she reminded him, remembering their last conversation quite clearly.

Seemingly tired of looking down at her, he squatted beside the bath, bringing himself as close to eye level with her as he was currently able. "I would treat you …" he struggled to think of the right wording, "more gently," he finally decided. "If you would let me." Rivka stared at him, at a complete loss for words. Was he drunk? She couldn't smell any wine on him over her own formidable stench. Was she hallucinating? "Don't look so fucking surprised," he grunted, looking like he was already regretting his words.

"Have you just come from a tavern?"

"You make it very difficult to be kind to you," he informed her.

"Is kindness a new hobby you've developed in my absence?" she inquired, a smile tugging at her lips. "Have you grown bored of whores and boars?"

She was the most irritating human being he'd ever met in his life, thought Robert, as he reached a hand out, hesitating when she flinched, before peeling a wet curl from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.

But harming her had not brought him pleasure. Avoiding her had not brought him peace.

"Yes," he confirmed. "A new hobby just for you."

* * *

 **A/N:** Surprise! Another chapter so soon. I'm currently home sick from work so I have more time to write than I usually do. Also, I'll admit, I am always inspired to work more when I have reviews from people who are actually enjoying what I'm writing.

Speaking of, special thanks to:

 _Guest:_ Your wish is my command with a quick update! Thank you for the review, but you'll have to wait and see about the answer to your question! :P

 _Marvelmyra:_ Thanks for the reviews! You're definitely right about LF never being in the Vale in his youth. I honestly don't think too hard when I'm writing author's notes, but I should've known better.

As for your other review, I think you misunderstood my point. Game of Thrones, while, I think, inferior to its source material, does a decent job of showcasing diverse, human female characters with a lot of depth and complexity. The show definitely has intelligent women, but even the most intelligent women are always foiled by their male counterparts. Cersei is always considered much less clever than Tyrion, Sansa is always ten steps behind Littlefinger. The only female character in the show I think is portrayed as being as intelligent as LF, Varys, Tywin, etc, is Olenna, but I still don't think she's given quite the same credit for orchestrating the Purple Wedding as Tywin is for the Red Wedding.

I will admit I try not to think of Margaery or any of my other poor Tyrell children as the show did them so wrong. Yes, Margaery played a perfect game. It's a shame Natalie Dormer asked to be written out of the show and that they gave her such a lame death for the sake of a cool Michael Bay style explosion. I also definitely agree about Willas. While I understand the need to cut certain things to make a ten episode season possible, I will be forever pressed that I never got to see him on screen. The day the show called Loras the heir to Highgarden was the day the music died.

 _Miss Luny:_ Haha RobertxLyanna is my second least favorite ship, surpassed only by RhaegarxLyanna. I ship Lyanna exclusively with riding horses around Winterfell with her brothers. I'm definitely guilty of writing 'a new Stark daughter who looks just like Lyanna' fanfiction, but I agree it's a bit overdone and I definitely can't contribute anything new to that narrative that someone else couldn't do better. I'm glad you find the pairing satisfying and appreciate the review, as always! :)


	8. The King Does As He Likes

"Breaking his vows is punishable by death, is it not?" Robert gave her an incredulous look before looking past her to where Shae was currently flattening her sheets. "She does not speak the common tongue," Rivka lied without missing a beat, not even needing to glance over her shoulder to where she knew the girl was.

Shae continued making the bed, though it had been made over an hour ago. She had to look busy while the King was present but she didn't actually have anything to do. "I can't kill Jaime Lannister," said Robert.

"You wouldn't be killing Jaime Lannister," she insisted. "You'd be executing an oath breaker and kingslayer. You are not setting a good precedent for your own reign if you let regicide go unpunished."

"His father may disagree," Robert replied, though he would certainly delight in killing Jaime Lannister, he knew he couldn't.

Rivka pursed her lips as she looked away from Robert, who was still giving her an odd look, in favor of the beautiful view her windows afforded her. "Giving Lord Tywin to Dorne would certainly balm any tensions between you and the Martells."

She glanced at Robert again out of the corner of her eye to find him regarding her as if she were insane, now. It very likely would end the Dornish rebellion against him, but it was no easy thing to kill two Lannisters with one stone. "Why do you want him dead?" He'd certainly given the pair ample time to be together, time enough for her to have a valid reason. "Did he hurt you?"

No more than you have, she thought, but decided against saying. He'd kept his word since her release from the dungeons. She had been treated gently and given anything and everything she could possibly want. She intended to enjoy the peace for a while longer before risking his fury again. He looked angry now, she realized, his knuckles white as he balled his hands into fists. Angry at the possibility that another man had done her harm. "He paid a visit to my cell," she said, watching closely for his reaction. She struggled to fight off a smile when his jaw clenched. "It hardly matters."

She waved a dismissive hand and stood, but Robert caught her by the wrist and pulled her back to him. "Rivka," he insisted, something dangerous in his eyes as he looked up at her now.

"Look at you," she teased, running her free hand through his shortly cropped hair and feeling pleased when he did not seem to mind. "Positively custodial." His gaze softened as her fingers trailed from his scalp to his jaw and he released her hand in favor of her hips, pulling her between his widely spread legs. With both hands now holding him at attention, Rivka thought on what an odd thing it was, to hold a king, both literally and metaphorically. The typically aggressive man made no attempt to move things further, but instead waited patiently, making it clear he was permitting her control. She faltered under the sudden power and let her hands slide from his jaw to his shoulders. "Why do you refuse a wife?"

Robert's brow furrowed, his hands still at her waist. "What?"

"A year you've sat the throne," she said needlessly. He knew how long he'd been king. "I do not imagine I'd be the first to insist on the merits of taking a queen. Did you truly love her so much?"

He tried to bring Lyanna's face to memory, to recall the girl he'd gone to war for not so long ago, but found only Ned's could come to mind. "You want to know the horrible truth?" he asked. "I can't even remember what she looked like." It had been years since he'd seen her last, and all he could remember was the long, dark hair and pale skin.

"If not Lyanna, then why? I am not such a fool to think it has anything to do with me," she said. "You have had no secret female companions, you've taken no trips to the whore houses. You are presented with several perfectly adequate women and yet you refuse the daughters of Houses who would solidify your rule."

"Perhaps you are not as clever I had imagined," said Robert, earning himself an irritated look as she attempted to pull away from him now, but he held her firmly in her place. "All those years with Littlefinger and you never learned to gauge a man's desires?"

Petyr had always said she needed to spend more time at the brothels. It was a facet of her knowledge sorely lacking, she knew, but she would not believe the man's interest in her extended beyond something of entertainment for him. "Perhaps you mistake me for a stupid little girl," she said. A stupid little girl dreaming of a handsome king to love her.

"You stand at least two of the three," he reminded her, half a smile on his face as she made another annoyed attempt to leave his embrace. This time he replaced his hands with his arms, wrapping them around her waist and pulling her into him. Though she stood while he sat, she stood but a few inches above him. "And threaten the third by denying what you know to be true."

She smiled now; a real one, Robert realized, one absent the usual threat a smile from her held. "What I know to be true is you must marry Cersei Lannister," she said. "I do not think you will like it if Tywin Lannister decides he must force your hand."

"He may find my will no easy thing to bend."

Rivka did not doubt that. There were few men she considered as stubborn as Robert Baratheon. Perhaps only his brother, who had resorted to eating actual shoes rather than to surrender Storm's End to Mace Tyrell. "A war against Tywin Lannister would not be wise," she said. Not so soon after his last, not against a man who had orchestrated the utter decimation of the last House to cross him. "But he is without his armies now," she continued, her hands once again finding their way to face, her fingers dancing delicately across the rough whiskers of his jaw as she leaned ever closer to him. "With naught but an infantile dwarf remaining outside this castle to call the banners."

"He has a brother," said Robert, recalling Ser Kevan Lannister to be a man of … at least vague competence.

"A man built to follow, not lead," she said. "He's never had a thought that Lord Tywin did not have first, and absent his brother's guidance … he'd make a much more controllable Warden of the West than the current, would he not?"

"He would," said Robert, wishing for a world where the most difficult lord in his kingdom was Kevan Lannister.

"A king should not suffer the whims of a lord." She was so close now Robert was struggling to remain focused on her words and not the lips they fell from. "The King does as he bloody well likes."

Jaime had not yet trained himself to not flinch when Robert threw the door open so suddenly. He glanced up at the man who did not pay him such mind before pushing past him, or rather through him, knocking his shoulder into Jaime so hard the boy stumbled back. He could only stare after the much larger man as he lumbered through the corridors, his shoulders tensed in a way that made Jaime fear for whatever man he came upon next. He was more than accustomed to verbal tauntings from the king, but they'd never been physical before now. He need only glance through the still open doorframe to know the cause of such escalation. "Ser Jaime," she greeted with a smile about as sincere as Cersei's tended to be, before closing the door firmly in his face.

"Why do you do that?" asked Shae, once the door had been closed and they were alone again. "You should have fucked him."

Rivka sent her a look before flopping down on the bed, feeling exhausted enough mentally that even her body felt weak. "I've already done that," she said, though it had been so long ago it felt less like a memory and more like a dream. "All it earned me was a trip to the dungeons."

"You must not have done it very well," said Shae, more matter-of-factly than insulting. "Did you use your mouth or only cunt?"

"You know, handmaidens usually don't talk so much," Rivka replied, laughing when Shae dropped onto the bed beside her and pinched her. "Nor do they assault their lady."

Shae scoffed, either at the word lady being used to describe Rivka or at maiden describing herself. "He wants you," she insisted. If a king ever had want of her, she'd have fucked him like it was his last night in this world. "You are a fool to not give yourself to him."

Part of Rivka feared she may be right, and the other wished desperately to speak to Petyr Baelish. He had been a constant in her life when she had no need of him, but now, as she guided Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister closer to war, he was absent. There was no one to tell her if what she was doing was right or if she was merely sealing her own fate. But it had been Petyr who taught her all those years ago that it was foolish to give a man what he wanted as soon as he wanted it. She had to make him wait until desire for her all but consumed him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Phew! Another update! Sorry this is a bit short and it took so long, but this is the only story I'm actually currently writing, so it takes much longer to update than just … copy and pasting and making some grammar corrections as I have to with other stories.

Special thanks to:

 _Miss Luny:_ I'm so glad you're still with me! It's a difficult thing to write relationships and have them feel somewhat realistically progressed for me. I always want to just instantly make everyone in love, so I hope you're enjoying the progression and it's not feeling too rushed or too slow. Thank you for the review!

 _Yusuke Kurosaki_ : I'm glad we can agree on Lyanna being terrible, though never as terrible as Rhaegar! You make me want to write a story where Elia finally gets the justice she deserves. Thanks for the review!

 _Guest_ : I love your support! Having people actually read and enjoy what I'm writing is 99% of what gets me to actually sit down and type words. I hope you continue to enjoy and like the eventual answer to your question. :)

 _Csahn_ : Yeeeesssss! I love when I write a particularly good line, makes my heart swell! Thank you for the review, I appreciate the specificity so I know what I'm doing well or what you'd like to see more of!

 _Calebisacactus_ : I'm glad it looked promising in the first chapter! Hopefully it stayed so promising throughout the rest haha. Thanks for your review!


	9. Mistakes

"Unsafe," she muttered to herself, glaring at the large wooden frame that now kept her trapped. He had lied to her, all those months ago when he said he'd let her spread her wings. She did not do well in captivity, even in a cage as nice as her current. She watched with envy as Shae prepared to make the journey to Rhaenys's Hill, to visit her mother, who was said to be thriving in her current conditions.

Shae gave her a smile as she approached, sitting beside the sulking girl on her bed. It was out of character for Rivka's behavior to reflect her age, but she was unaccustomed to being unable to manipulate a situation to suit her. The were no negotiations to be had with a locked door. "All you will miss are the rats," said Shae, placing a hand on the younger girl's knee in an attempt to console her. "Have you decided?"

Rivka ran tan hands down her face, pressing her fingers against her eyelids until she started seeing stars. "I can't run a brothel from the Red Keep," she finally said. The idea had come about long ago, back before she'd been forced to the castle. Her home was large, with several unoccupied rooms in a part of town far removed from any of Littlefinger's brothels, but close enough to the port to guarantee no shortage of customers. She had money, enough for all of them to live comfortably, but not for anything more.

A brothel meant gold, and with enough gold, she could ensure her own ship to Essos, her own seaside estate in Pentos, with no debts to any Lannisters. Shae's hand slid to the bed as Rivka stood suddenly, marching to the door and knocking against it until her knuckles stung. "No," came the muffled reply from the other side. She recognized the voice instantly and continued her knocking, her jaw now firmly clenched. "You're going to hurt yourself."

She stopped hitting the door now, leaning her forehead against it instead. "And who do you think he'll be angry with if I do?"

The door opened a moment later and a very unimpressed Jaime Lannister looked down at her. "He said no," said Jaime. "Which means I get to say no." He moved to close the door on her again as quickly as he'd opened it, but Rivka was not done with him yet and lodged herself in the frame, leaving him little choice but to leave the door open or move her by force. Though he longed to, he knew better than to lay a hand on her. "Telling you no delights me."

"Telling Robert that Cersei Lannister prefers her brother's cock would delight _me_ ," she snapped, more overtly threatening than she intended to be. She was too frustrated for subtlety. It was too hot so high up and it was beginning to wear on her ability to think clearly. "I could be your friend, Jaime," she said, clenching and unclenching her fists as she tried to regain her usual composure. "Let me go to Flea Bottom."

"It's too dangerous," he replied with a sigh, hoping she had no further threats to shout at him. "For some reason, your life actually matters now."

"What threat could peasants pose to a boy so talented with a blade Ser Arthur Dayne knighted him?" she asked. "It will be a short trip. We'll be back before nightfall."

The bowels of King's Landing blew life back into her lungs. She slipped out of her sandals, leaving them on the streets behind her as she pressed her feet into the dirt, surprised to find each step hurt. Her skin was not as callused as it used to be and she found herself conflicted, wanting to put her shoes back on but fearing that doing so would cause her an even greater pain in her chest. She did not want to face the possibility that the girl she had been was no longer the girl she was.

Even her knowledge of the streets was fading and she missed a step, coming down a little too hard with the next one. A sudden, sharp pain shot through her and she stumbled, nearly doubling over before a pair of strong hands grabbed her by the arms to steady her. Still, the pain persisted, her head swimming and what felt like a blade in the pit of her stomach, stabbing her over and over again. "What's wrong with her?" she could hear Jaime demanding, but he sounded far away, though she knew him to be close by the hands still gripping her biceps.

She could hear her companions bickering, but couldn't focus enough to make out their words. She'd been in pain before, but nothing so internal. It was a different kind of problem and it was clear neither she nor her companions knew how to handle it. They hadn't gotten far from the Red Keep, she knew where they were, near Aegon's High Hill, and she knew what else was nearby. "Petyr," she said, hearing when the pair fell quiet. "Petyr," she repeated.

Jaime's hands slid from her biceps to under her arms as he heaved her up, off of the ground and into his arms. There was only one Petyr he knew, and Littlefinger's brothel was not far from where they were. Lord Baelish was not one of his favorite people, but he was desperate. The last thing he needed was Robert's favorite thing dying on his watch.

Her body jostled with every step he took and each step only served to bring her more pain. The sounds of pleasure emitting from the brothel had always made her uncomfortable before but they were a sound from the gods now. Though the whores did not recognize Jaime, they recognized Rivka and were quick to escort the trio to Littlefinger's office.

"Ser Jaime, I had not imagined you a-" Petyr went quiet upon realizing who the knight carried in his arms and quickly guided the boy to lay her on one of the couches. "Ask one of the whores to find you cool water," he commanded Shae, before shifting his attention to Jaime. "You wait downstairs."

Petyr's office was much cooler than the streets and she was already breathing easier, until she felt a hand snaking up her legs and under her dress. "No," she protested weakly, attempting to raise a hand to stop him. Petyr's hand had already grazed past anything important and up to her stomach by the time she managed to lift her own to stop him.

His free hand grabbed it, bringing it back to her side, his thumb running gently against her knuckles. "What extreme circumstances you need to finally use a door," he said.

"What's-" she let out a sharp gasp, "wrong with me?"

"Nothing," he said, sounding almost reassuring until he continued, "unless you've been fucking fishmongers as well as kings." Her breathing stopped as she focused on him until his brow furrowed. "Have you been fucking fishmongers?"

"No-"

"That's good," said Petyr, his fingers stroking her stomach absentmindedly now, in a way that struck Rivka as almost possessive. "A king's baby is worth a fair bit more."

"No," she repeated, this time more firmly as she struggled to sit up. She couldn't be with child. She couldn't have Littlefinger know. He'd cut it out of her and sell it to the highest bidder if given half the chance. Her mind wasn't dark enough to consider what Tywin Lannister would do to Robert Baratheon's first born child if it didn't come out of his daughter. Her breath caught in her chest as she remembered who'd brought her here; if Jaime-Petyr's quick dismissal of the man made more sense now. "Sha-" she tried to shout before Petyr's hand released her own in favored of clamping down over her mouth.

Oh, what a fool she'd been, thought Rivka, staring up at the man who still wore an easy smile despite how tense their situation felt, to have let a temporary pain revert her to such a foolish, misplaced trust in the man. "The Lannister boy hears as well as your friend," he informed her. "I think it best we keep this information from him." The mixture of fear and anger had returned her strength to her and she quickly pushed his hands away, swaying only slightly as she forced herself to her feet. "You've exceeded my expectations," he told her conversationally, seeming less interested in her now as he approached his desk.

Her brow furrowed; what expectations could the man have had for her? It had been Robert who had asked for her, not some ploy by Petyr. "Expectation?" she asked.

"I had hoped for a bastard," he admitted. "They say the Baratheon seed is quite strong and I see the rumors were not inflated." He chuckled now, grabbing a quill and ink as he set to writing something down. "But I had expected him to take a wife by now. An unwed king with a bastard on the way … if it proves a son," he glanced up from his paper to gaze at her stomach briefly, "we could find ourselves in quite a good position."

We, she thought. He'd said it twice now. "We are not a we," she insisted. "You sold me-"

"I elevated you," he replied, his attention now back on whatever he was writing.

Rivka merely stared at him, her attention not shifting as Shae rushed into the room with a bucket full of water, glancing between the pair. "Was it his idea to have me or something you planted in his head?"

"His desires were his own," he assured her. "I merely timed the visit well." He had kept track of her flower since first she'd revealed it to him several years ago, crying that she was dying and showing him the blood that stained her thighs. It was something he made note of for all of his whores. The information was typically used to avoid the time of ovulation and unwanted pregnancies, but Rivka had been a special case.

What was she if not a broodmare? Robert's desires may have been his own, but every lesson in intimacy had come only after he'd revealed them. Every touch, every kiss, had been little more than preparation for what Petyr had long seen coming. Her chest felt tight as she held a hand out to Shae, who needed little explanation before placing something cold in her grasp. She wandered closer to his desk, her eyes glancing over the document he was writing. All she needed to see was the title at the top, addressed to King Robert, before she struck, bringing her dagger down hard and fast into the top of his hand, the tip of the blade lodging into his desk, keeping his hand in place as blood pooled out of it and across the letter. "I don't think it wise to remove it," she told him calmly, ignoring his pained screams as he tried to use his free hand to pull the blade out. "It's quite easy to bleed out from such a wound," she explained. "Or in childbirth."

"Rivka-" he tried.

"Do you remember what I said to you that first night?" she wondered, hearing the door behind her open and assuming Jaime had come to join them after hearing Petyr's screams. Littlefinger had gone quiet now, his attentions firmly focused on her. "I am not your whore, Petyr. If you speak a word of this to anyone, I'll have him tear the tongue from your throat." She pulled the knife from his hand now and smiled as his screams returned, his blood now gushing from the wound.

Shae was at her arm in an instant, holding her steady as she swayed slightly, guiding her out of the room and out of the brothel, leaving Jaime little choice but to follow after them. "You had me bring you to Flea Bottom so you could stab the Master of Coins," he said, glaring down at her as she forced the bloody dagger into his hand.

"No," she replied truthfully, clutching Shae's arm tightly. "I still have to-"

Shae released her arm in favor of her cheeks. "You should return to the comforts of the Red Keep," she said. "I will take care of everything. Do not worry."

"Don't let my mother …" she trailed off and Shae gave her a knowing smile, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. She watched as Shae went, hoping the girl was clever enough to start a business without her. Jaime was quick to replace the girl, hooking his hands under Rivka's arms again and heaving her back into the air. "I can walk," she argued, but made no other attempt to protest as he carried her through the streets and back to the Red Keep. Until she realized they weren't following the same path back. "This is not the way."

"Is it not?" he asked, his breath warm against her ear as he continued to carry her, his hold on her gentle and one that did not raise alarm. "Forgive me, I don't know these streets as well as you." Anxiety filled her belly as they stepped into the shade, deep into an alleyway so narrow the buildings blocked out the sun. Rivka leaned away from him, pressing her hands against his armored chest, only to find her attempts at distance painfully successful when he released her and let her drop to the ground - hard. "I thought we were friends, Rivka," he said, watching as she groaned on the ground, her pain now exponentially worse. Jaime squatted beside her, placing a heavy hand on her chest and pushing her back into the dirt when she tried to rise. "And yet you threaten me. You threaten my sister."

"A misunderstanding," she said, wincing with the pain currently pulsating through her body.

"Was it?" asked Jaime. "What misunderstanding do you not want Lord Baelish to speak of?"

"I stabbed-"

"You did," he interrupted, having little interest in her lies as he looked down at the blood soaked blade in his free hand. "What would drive you to such an act," he said, pressing the tip of the blade gently against her belly. "I wonder."

It had been a long time since Rivka had been so afraid. How many mistakes had she made to get herself here? "Jaime," she said, taking in a sharp breath of air when he pressed the tip a little deeper and a few droplets of warm blood rolled down her stomach. "Please."

* * *

 **A/N:** When it rains, it pours … new chapters! Horrible weather this weekend has given me time to write. Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

I'd like to thank everyone for the continued growing reviews. I really do appreciate them. If you like the story, let me know, and if you hate it, DEFINITELY let me know.

Special thanks to:

 _ **Dreamy-Girl2016:**_ Thank you for the review! I'm glad you like Rivka's characterizations. She's definitely a very clever, very calculating girl, but she is still very young. I think it makes sense and keeps her a more realistic character to have those self doubts and internal struggles, even if those around her can't see them. It's her first time not having a more experienced hand to guide her so she is going to make mistakes. And yes - it's good fun to write the Lannisters squirming a bit. :)

 _ **Powerof923:**_ I'm glad you like Rivka! I think it's a point of view seriously lacking in the ASOIAF universe and especially on . Most characters are very strictly bound to their titles or their family responsibilities, so their actions become fairly cautious and predictable. Rivka's only real responsibility is to survive and, as you said, against people considerably more powerful than she is. Thank you for the review!

 _ **Tybolt Silver:**_ Whoooooaaaaa! Thank you for all of the reviews! I very genuinely appreciate them because they come not only with compliments but also with constructive criticism. Let me try to respond to everything you said.

Varys is definitely a convenient plot hole I wrote for myself. I know he is really the one in charge of the little birds, but I wanted to write about Littlefinger, so canon had to be altered (as well as having Littlefinger be the Littlefinger we know instead of scrawny, teenaged Petyr Baelish). This could also be said about Robert's feelings for Lyanna. I hate Robert/Lyanna nearly as much as I hate Rhaegar/Lyanna. There is little canonical evidence showing Robert and Lyanna had an actual positive consensual relationship. I think Robert was more in love with the idea of her and his feelings for her only really grew to what they were because he lost her, so as I addressed in chapter 7 I believe, I'm removing her from the equation.

Thank you for the compliments! Nothing makes me happier than to hear I've done a good job with characterization, especially with Jaime. He's one of the more difficult characters for me to write in this story. LF still acts like the LF we know and I get to basically make up Robert's character, but I have to base to Jaime off of the Jaime we actually know, minus a decade and a half. I'm thrilled to hear I haven't completely butchered him.

I'm also glad you've noticed LF's shortcomings. He has certain expectations for her and definitely viewed her as a more compliant vessel than she actually is. He taught her everything she knows, but he taught her too well and he doesn't have the control over her (or her desires) that he thought he did.

And thank you for the suggestion! I had never heard of Roksalana before and her rise to power hits me right in the feels. I started this story with the understanding that Rivka could never rise too high, but now you tempt me with this! :'( I have things to consider …..


	10. Demon

Jaime had sworn so many vows and seemed intent upon breaking them all. He had thought the girl some kind of demon, hellbent on sowing seeds of chaos throughout the realm. A respawning of the Mad King, destined to remain a thorn in his side forever.

But demons didn't cry. They didn't beg for mercy lying in the dirt. She was little more than a child, the kind he'd sworn to protect. When had he become the kind of man to threaten a woman heavy with child? "Jaime," he heard his sister call, her voice harsh.

He glanced up to find her staring at him, her brow furrowed, and saw his father watching him from the end of the table. How long had he been lost in his own head, paying his family no mind? "What holds your attention?" asked Tywin, his eyes ever calculating and Jaime knew better than to attempt a lie.

"Recent dealings," answered Jaime. "Nothing of pressing concern."

Cersei didn't look like she quite believed him, but she would not press the matter in front of their father. "The only pressing concern is the king," she said in agreement. "That dirty little street rat has had more than adequate time and yet, if anything, he seems to avoid me now."

"Perhaps the girl is less compliant than you suggested," said Tywin.

"I have seen her make several attempts to sway him," said Jaime, uncertain why the lie fell from his tongue. He knew what would happen if his father doubted her obedience. Rivka was a victim of circumstance. Born to a foreign whore, forced to rely on the likes of Littlefinger … she only did what was necessary to survive. He wouldn't condemn her to his father's wrath when he knew he could shield her from it. "Robert is not an easy man to maneuver."

"A fact known by all," said Tywin. Kings were rarely easy to control, but this one in particular was exceedingly difficult. If Robert continued to prove himself so unmanageable, other arrangements would have to be made. "Do you believe her to be capable of the task?"

"Yes," Jaime said, ignoring the look Cersei was currently giving him. "I'll apply a bit more pressure."

* * *

She stared at the cup that sat before her, filled to the brim with a liquid that had lost its temperature long ago. Tansy, mint, wormwood, honey, and just a drop of pennyroyal. That was all it would take to remove the burden still growing in her belly. Moon tea, they called it, though she wasn't sure why.

She had long since sent her handmaiden away. Shae had not returned to the Red Keep and Rivka was not comfortable with her current replacement. Not with this. The sun had been high in the sky when first she'd sat across from the tiny cup, but it had set and there was little but the moon and stars to light her chambers now.

Why her hand stayed now was beyond her. She'd asked Jaime to procure the tea for her with great determination. She didn't want the child, no part of her did. But now, as the time came to be rid of it, she hesitated.

The door to her chambers opened behind her and she was on her feet in an instant, blocking the cup with her body, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. "For fuck's sake, why is she alone?" Robert demanded of the guards who stood outside her door. "Go fetch some damn handmaidens!" Rivka watched as he shoved one of the guards forcibly down the hall before turning his attention to her. "They said you were unwell."

He'd been gone for near a week on a hunt, and the signs of it were still upon him. Blood stained his tunic, though she could not be certain if it was a man's or a boar's. "They?" she wondered.

"The Lannister boy," he elaborated and she felt her stomach plummet. What all had Jaime told him? "He said you collapsed."

"And you came to see me," she said, as if she were trying to process a truth her brain refused to believe. The man had near choked the life from her in Flea Bottom, had sentenced her to the dungeons, and caged her in her room, but here he was now, concerned etched into his features as he pulled her toward her bed to force her to sit. "Why?"

Robert's brow furrowed at the question. "Was it the heat?" he asked. It had been uncustomarily hot on his hunt.

"No," she said. Everywhere Rivka looked, she seemed to find a new enemy. But Robert could no longer be counted among them, she realized, as he squatted before her, bringing himself to her eye level and brushing the curls behind her ear to get a better look at her face. "I am with child."

He froze, falling silent for such a long time the guards returned, a group of handmaidens came running into the room. They skittered about her chambers, lighting candles as they went, but Robert's eyes never left her. "Out," he said loudly, to the women who had only just arrived. Only once the door had closed behind them did he speak again. "My child?"

"Yes," said Rivka.

Confusion fell upon his features once more as his eyes went to her stomach. He had seen many pregnant women in his life and he'd known they were all pregnant by the swelling of their bellies. Rivka was not as thin as she'd once been, but she showed no signs of carrying a life within her. He brought a hesitant hand to her and rested it gently against her stomach. It had not swollen to the extent most women's did, but there was no denying it felt distended. "A child," he repeated, his eyes flickering up to hers again. She swallowed anxiously as she waited for his reaction. "You're certain it's mine?"

"You are the only possibility," she assured him. His brow fell as he continued to stare at her stomach, causing butterflies to form within it alongside child. His height stood closer to seven feet than six, while hers barely surpassed five. Years of malnourishment had left her too small and her hips too narrow to deliver a child. He feared any son of his would tear his way out of her. "He was right," he heard her mumble, finally forcing his gaze up to hers. She all but flinched under it, pulling away from the hand yet resting against her belly, removing herself to further onto the bed. "He said you wouldn't want it, that's why-" Her eyes flickered to the desk behind them but all Robert saw was a cup sitting atop it.

"Who?" he asked, rising to his feet to examine the cup her eyes kept falling to.

"Ser Jaime," she said. "He said it would be easier, that it wouldn't hurt as much as …" Rivka trailed off, her hand drifting to her stomach protectively.

Robert did not need further explanation. He had helped many girls acquire it in his youth. "Moon tea," he said, staring down into the cup in his hand, still filled to the brim with liquid. The anger bubbled up into his chest, threatening to pour out of him, but the knowledge that she had not drank it steadied him. "Wouldn't hurt as much as what?"

He watched as she opened and closed her mouth, finding herself speechless for the first time since he'd known her. While her tongue offered no clue, her hands did, both now clutching her abdomen. He threw the cup into the wall behind him, watching her flinch as it shattered. She shrank away from him as he approached the bed again, but not quickly enough. He caught her by the ankle and pulled her towards him, his hands at the hem of her dress, forcing it up until he caught sight of a tiny mark, low on her abdomen.

It was small and if he had not been searching for it, he would have missed it. He brushed his thumb across it, feeling the rugged edge of a wound yet healing. He had received enough cuts over the years to recognize the freshness of this one. "He said-"

Robert did not wait to hear what Jaime Lannister had said. Providing the girl with moon tea was treasonous enough, but to threaten his child with a blade? There was little that could temper his rage now. He took the door clean off its hinges as he stormed from her chambers, his mind of a very singular intention.

"Your Grace," he heard Cersei say and turned from his father to see the king approaching. Some lords hid their anger well. His father, for example, and even Jaime himself to a certain extent. He hid his anger behind detachment, behind an easy, mocking smile. Robert Baratheon was not such a lord and Jaime knew he was in trouble from the moment he laid eyes on him.

"Your Grace," he tried, glancing at his father to the side of him. By the time he shifted his attention back to Robert, the man was upon him, and Jaime was nowhere near quick enough to duck the fist that came swinging at his jaw.

Jaime could hear a crack and knew something in his skull had broken, but everything hurt and that made it difficult to distinguish exactly what. He heard a scream somewhere in the distance, likely Cersei, as he fell backwards, the force of the blow too much to remain standing. But he never hit the ground. Robert caught him by the tunic, holding him up as he brought his fist down again and again and-

Robert felt the boy's body go limp and knew full well he was either unconscious or dead, but he still couldn't bring himself to stop. It was only when several Lannister guards rushed him that he was forced to release him, focusing his attention on hurling the guards away from him instead.

"Your Grace," Tywin Lannister's voice boomed, loud and commanding enough that even Robert hesitated long enough to look at the older man. "What offense has my son committed?"

"Treason," was all Robert could manage.

"He is a highborn lord," said Tywin, his eyes never leaving Robert's, "entitled to a trial."

Robert looked at where Jaime lay still. He hoped the boy already dead, but his head was clearing as the anger left him. He knew there would be consequences for denying Tywin Lannister's son a fair and proper trial. "If he wakes up," said Robert, shifting his attention from son to father. "Tell him to choose a trial by combat."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the review weirdunusualchick! You were definitely right about Jaime making some poor life choices last chapter. I'm glad you enjoy the story! :)


	11. Silk & Ivy

Life without a door had been an odd thing. She had spent her life being taught the security one provided was a cage, but she missed that cage it now that it was gone. It was fortunate that she did not have to wait very long to be given a new door, this one much larger and more sturdy.

She had been summoned from her chambers no more than an hour after he'd left them. She was led through the Red Keep, seeing more of the castle than she'd ever seen before, rising higher and higher until they could rise no more. There were enough guards at the door that Rivka could assume whose chambers they were. Her suspicions were confirmed when she was allowed inside.

The room that stood before her near took her breath away. Littlefinger's brothels were decorated lavishly and her chambers in the castle were quite nice, but they were nothing like this. The walls were painted a beautiful shade of salmon and tall, white columns framed a sitting area with plush armchairs and couches in various shades of cream and tan. Peach colored, silk curtains were draped throughout the chambers and hung to separate the rest of the room from the massive balcony. She stepped through them to take in the view below. Large, arched window frames wrapped in ivy gave her a view of the gardens below and the sea beyond it, with no hint of the sights, sounds, or smells the city below offered. Her only thought on the room was how ill suited it was for the king and the thought of him trying to pass through the curtains without ripping them out of the ceiling was enough to make her smile.

Stepping back into the room, she opened the wooden door on the left, spotting the bedroom she suspected she'd find and quickly closing it. Heading through the door on the right, she found herself within a library now, with shelves that reached the ceiling, filled to the brim with books she knew he never read. She trailed a finger along their spines, struggling to read the titles of books above her line of sight. "Of course I'd find you here," he said, suddenly enough that she almost jumped.

"Should I not be?" she wondered.

"It's yours now," he answered, leaning against the doorframe and watching as she picked a book so heavy she struggled to hold it. "It'll get more use from you than it has in a century, I'm certain."

If Rivka need be cooped up in a castle, she could think of worse ways to spend her time than reading upon the balcony overlooking the flowers and trees below. The book she had pulled was on the storied history of the Targaryen Dynasty, at least up until Jahaerys the Second, but she had little interest in reading a book about the Targaryens written by the Targaryens. They would certainly censor out all the madness and depravity. She attempted to heave it back into place, but found her arms sorely lacking the strength to do so. Robert was there in an instant, placing his hand against hers and helping her put it back. His grip was surprisingly gentle, but his hand was still terribly large, dwarfing her thin wrist and making it look like that of a child. "Why is it mine?"

"I won't have you as unattended as I found you today," he said. No handmaidens, only one guard at her door. It wouldn't do. Not for the girl carrying his child within her belly. "You will have no fewer than three handmaidens tending to your needs at all times. You will have cooks preparing five meals a day specifically for you to make you fat enough to deliver this child. There will be a number of guards posted outside the door equal to if I were inside-"

"Where did you go?" she interrupted, her eyes catching sight of his split and bloody knuckles.

Robert followed her gaze down. "You'll have no further dealings with Jaime Lannister," he added, as if it were just another tally on his list of things to tell her.

"Did you kill him?"

"Probably not," said Robert, though he didn't look particularly confident in his answer. "He's to have a trial."

"For what?" she demanded incredulously. She had hoped Robert would be angry, she had expected threats to exchange between the pair, but a trial?

"Treason," he supplied.

"Treason?" she repeated, unable to contain the laugh that escaped her lips. "I'm not the fucking Queen, Robert! Threats against me are not treason."

"And yet, threats against the future prince or princess of the Seven Kingdoms are."

Her legs felt weak and she dropped down into a nearby armchair, rubbing her hands over her face. "This," she said, gesturing to her stomach, "is a future bastard."

Robert approached her, putting a hand on either arm of the chair as he squatted in front of her. "Do you have any idea who has the authority to legitimize bastards?" With a sigh, she thunked her head back into the chair, staring up at the ceiling instead of down at him. "I'd like to send him a raven and ask for his blessing."

"Does anyone ever tell you what a great bloody idiot you are?" she asked, though a smile was tugging at her lips that she tried desperately to hide.

"Less often now that I'm king," said Robert. There was a witty remark on the tip of her tongue that she let go when he looked down, his jaw clenching and his brow growing heavy. He stayed that way for a long moment, lost in thought, before finally looking back up at her. "She was the only thing I ever wanted," he began and Rivka felt her stomach sink. "She was promised to me for years, for most of our lives. But I didn't know Lyanna, not really. I knew her brother and I knew she was beautiful and that she was mine, but …"

"You've already-" she grumbled. She didn't want to hear this story again. She didn't want to hear about Lyanna Stark now or ever again.

"But I know you," he continued, ignoring her interruption. "Better than you think I do. And I …" He grimaced now, looking as if he were suddenly in a great deal of pain. "And I love you. I realize that now." It had been a recent discovery. Sometime in the milliseconds between punches it had dawned on him. The reason he was there, the reason he was angry enough to try to kill Jaime Lannister despite what it may cost him in the long run. It had nothing to do with his unborn child. It was because he loved her and she'd been threatened. "I won't marry Cersei Lannister or any other highborn lady. Not when I know I could have you."

Rivka could not think of the last time someone had told her they loved her. Had it ever happened? Surely when she was very young her mother must've said it, but she couldn't recall. It was a challenge to hear those words and try to focus on any others that followed. "I don't have an army," she reminded him.

"I don't need an army," he said. "I already won a war without Tywin Lannister's armies, against Mace Tyrell's. If the Dornish intended to enter open war, they would've done it already."

"Tywin-"

"Tywin is currently within these walls, along with his son and daughter. There is nothing he can do and an attempt on King's Landing from his forces would be a fool's errand."

"The Greyjoys," said Rivka, looking more distracted than Robert had ever seen her. "Perhaps they could be persuaded to attack Lannisport. With their fleet destroyed, there would be no possibility to attack the capital and-"

Robert reached up to place a kiss between her brow, hoping to relieve the tension there. She fell silent, her attention now firmly on him. "I will take care of it," he said. "I will take care of you."

A sudden urge to kiss him overtook her but she wouldn't indulge it, not now. "You can't marry a commoner."

"Who will tell me no?" asked Robert. "I'll give you lands and a title. Harrenhal, perhaps." He was certain there were other abandoned or unclaimed castles throughout Westeros, but that was the first that came to mind. "I will promise Lord Tyrell his son or daughter will marry whatever comes out of you. The North will not turn from me, the Vale, Riverrun, the Stormlands … with Mace appeased, there will be no opposition strong enough to matter."

Against him, Rivka was certain that was true. Robert had won the throne by conquest. His prowess on the field of battle was comparative to none yet living. The lords and ladies of Westeros would be fools to turn against him, especially if he managed to secure the Tyrell backing. But Rivka was not a king. She did not have armies willing to go to war for her. The Lord of the Vale did not consider her a son. The Lord of Winterfell did not think of her like a brother. Robert had more friends than enemies, but all she had were enemies. She could only imagine how those enemies would grow, how many attempts on her life would follow the news … and yet … there was a part of her that wanted it, that wanted him. She wanted to marry the man who loved her, to raise their child together, to live in the most beautiful chambers in the castle overlooking the lush green gardens below.

These were dreams that every poor girl in Flea Bottom had, dreams that she'd always denied herself, knowing she could never have them. But now that they were being offered to her, how could she say no?

* * *

 **A/N:** Another short chapter, unfortunately. I've been quite busy so it was either post this or wait another week or two before posting. Hope you don't mind!

Special thanks to:

 _ **Tahlele**_ : I don't know why you decided to read it either, but I'm glad you did! Hope you continue to enjoy it!

 _ **Tybolt Silver**_ : You leave the best reviews! I honestly look forward to them.

Rivka not knowing about her pregnancy or understanding much about her menstruation definitely stems from being so malnourished. She's been so thin throughout her life that she didn't have a regular schedule and there were months where she went without her period, so not having one recently wouldn't have set off any red flags for her. Her mother has 100% been too incompetent and absent from Rivka's life to have helped her with that, but Petyr … oh, Petyr. He has the foresight to know someday the information would be useful to him. I'm glad you enjoyed Rivka being the one to take revenge on him. Her relationship with him is too personal and the betrayal too poignant for her to have done anything differently.

I can definitely understand your confusion with Tywin summoning his guards. I had 95% of this chapter written over a week ago, but spent a lot of time struggling with what was going to prevent Robert from killing Jaime. He doesn't have that subconscious telling him to stop, he doesn't have the fear of repercussion holding him back. Without an intervention, he would have killed him. I don't know if I specifically wrote it, but the guards were dispatched without any weapon use, only to pull Robert away from Jaime long enough for Tywin to get his attention.

I'm glad you still think I'm doing Jaime justice. I am the most insecure, still, with writing him. Robert comes much easier. I'm also glad you find heights as important as I do! Please use it for your own stories haha! Thank you, as always, for the amazing reviews! They keep me inspired me to write!

 _ **Dreamy-Girl2016:**_ Hahahah it would definitely be fun to see Rivka as queen! If only to see how the realm would react to her. Don't worry, Robert won't be falling for any Lannister buffoonery anytime soon. Thanks for the review! :)

 _ **JosieoftheRose:**_ Your wish is my command! Here's some more. Thank you for the review, I'm glad you enjoy my writing style.

 _ **CalesisaCactus:**_ Nobody puts Bobby in the corner!


	12. Lessons

Jaime's trial had finished the day prior. Grand Maester Pycelle had been unable to recall if the boy had come to him for Moon Tea, but Lord Baelish had claimed to be present when he did so. He also claimed to have several whores who'd witnessed Jaime's assault on her in the streets of Flea Bottom, all willing to testify if need be. A lie, of course, all of it, but lies told for her.

The punishment for treason was death but Robert had chosen mercy. A simple flogging in place of a beheading, an incredibly lenient ruling, and one that would quell the brewing war between him and Tywin Lannister. The man had little cause for rebellion against a king who'd just spared his son's life.

Cersei could not believe the sight before her. She'd heard Jaime speak of her before and he had quelled any suspicions she had of Robert being in love with her. He said she wasn't particularly beautiful, especially when compared with her. That had been a vast overestimation of the girl. Short enough one might mistake her for a dwarf, with a mop of unkempt curls and skin as dark as any of the Dornish. Her hips were narrow and her chest small and Cersei thought she looked more like a little boy than a woman.

"Aren't you an ugly little thing?"

Rivka glanced over her shoulder to see a young girl standing behind her. Her hair was golden and her eyes were green and there was no doubt in Rivka's mind who it was. Robert had not been wrong to say she looked like Jaime in a dress. "And you are as beautiful as they say," she replied with a smile.

The biggest difference between the Lannister twins was how they wore their anger. It was rare to see Jaime's, maybe a clenched jaw or fist was all that gave it away, but Cersei had it stitched into every feature. "Are you so ill trained you don't know how to address a highborn lady?"

"Yes," said Rivka. "I had suspected for the king to refuse a woman so beautiful and powerful that she must be incredibly grating and tedious. It is always pleasant when one's assumptions prove correct. Have you just left your brother? I had hoped to see him before they take him down."

It was Westerosi custom to leave the man tied to the whipping post for several hours after he'd been flogged. A custom usually intended to shame the punished, but the punished were usually commoners. It was rare for a highborn lord to be flogged and even rarer for them to be left out for all to see. It was not something Rivka intended upon missing. "My lady, your approved outing was to visit your mother," said Ser Barristan Selmy, standing a foot behind the pair and looking terribly uncomfortable in their company. It had taken a lot of arguing for Robert to agree to let her leave his chambers, and only with Ser Barristan accompanying her. The man was known for being the most capable of the Kingsguard, and for being honorable. She supposed Robert found him the most trustworthy guard for her, though he had not done well in keeping her on track.

"That _thing_ is not a lady," said Cersei, looking down her nose at the girl before her.

Cersei had no intention to stay around for a second longer than she had to, but she hesitated in her escape when the younger girl called out to her. "Oh, but I am," said Rivka. "Haven't you heard? I'm the new Lady of Harrenhal." It was news to Cersei who'd been too preoccupied with Jaime to listen in on the latest gossip. With little to say to the news, Cersei gave the girl one last withering look before being on her way. "She's delightful. I hope we'll be friends someday," Rivka told Barristan, before brushing past him to where she knew Jaime was still being kept.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of him. Still tall and golden and beautiful but he reminded her of a caged animal now. Something resembling guilt passed through her belly but she ignored it, approaching him and running her fingers alongside one of the deeper gashes in his back.

Jaime flinched at the sudden touch, jerking sharply against the pole until he could turn enough to see who was with him. He looked at her as if she were the last thing he wanted to see and turned away. "Is that any way to greet a friend?"

He glared as she appeared in his line of vision again, her eyes dancing across his face as she took in the damage Robert had done to him. A week had passed but he was still black and blue, his eye near swollen shut. "I defended you," he informed her, jerking away when her fingers brushed against his swollen cheekbone. "From my father."

"Well, that was very kind," she said. "Not very smart, but kind."

"You asked for that Moon Tea," said Jaime. It had been the final nail in the coffin of his conviction. Pycelle had been paid off, but his father had not been expecting Littlefinger to lie so convincingly. Jaime should've known better. Of course the man would forgive her attack on him when there was still power to be mined from her.

"And next time you'll know not to implicate yourself in treason!" Rivka replied cheerfully. "The lessons that we've taught each other over these few months have been invaluable."

He almost looked frightening, thought Rivka, the look he was giving her paired with his bruising did not paint a pretty picture. "And what lesson have you learned?"

Her smile fell instantly, contempt taking its place. "Your sister will never be queen, Jaime. Your father is forbidden to leave the castle. You're lucky your head is still attached to your body. The only person here who needs to learn their lesson is you."

Jaime could feel a hint of a smile tugging at his lips but he was too weak to see it to fruition. A shame, he thought. His day would improve considerably to actually see her properly angry. He'd seen her a bit irritated before, and she was definitely annoyed now, but if he managed to smile at her threats …

All his attempts at mocking the girl ceased when he saw Barristan approaching from behind her, a look of thorough disappointment on his face when he looked at Jaime, before putting a hand on Rivka's shoulder to guide her away.

* * *

It took considerably longer than she would've liked to get down to the Hill of Rhaenys. It was growing more and more difficult by the day to move and she knew she was likely to pop soon. It felt like a bottle of wildfire sat in her belly just waiting to consume her the day her child was born. She could almost feel it tearing at her now, trying to get out, and had to pause to clutch her stomach, trying to keep it in.

She could feel Ser Barristan approaching quickly, his hand coming to and hovering over her shoulder, but never coming down. He was unsure of himself, as she expected most men would be, when dealing with a pregnant woman. It was fortunate that not everyone was so inundated by the task. Warm hands found her elbows and guided her forward and to a bench to sit upon. "You better not have that thing now," she heard Shae say, forcing a cup of tepid water to her lips.

"No," agreed Rivka, swallowing the luke warm water before glancing around her surroundings. "Not in a tavern. Even if it's mine."

It was a far cry from how the tavern originally looked, but she still recognized it. Right next door to her home but completely rundown, it had cost next to nothing to purchase. The renovations had been a bit more expensive, but Rivka could only assume it had paid off as many of the tables were filled with drunk patrons and it was only midday. "It's good," Shae assured her, answering the question that hadn't been asked. "Here and the whores."

"Do we have enough for the Blacksmith?"

"Not yet," said Shae. "Maybe another month."

It wasn't that Rivka had any interest in smithing, but she had an interest in security. She had learned from Petyr over the years which businesses were the best to invest in. Soldiers would always need weapons and wars would always be fought. Men would always need to drink and a tavern only did better the worse things were. Some business ventures were less wise, like investing in ships or anything involving them. "But whores don't sink," she muttered to herself, ignoring the look Shae gave her.

The city was still rebuilding from the wildfire and Rhaenys's Hill had been hit hard. Businesses were struggling and they were selling for cheap. She could buy up her whole street within a year and have enough money she'd never have to rely on anyone for anything ever again. She wouldn't need Robert's protection. She could buy her own sellswords. She could buy her own assassins. "You should lie down."

"Or at least allow me to call for a carriage to bring you back to the castle," said Barristan.

"I'm fine," Rivka promised the pair, pushing to her feet to prove her point. She swayed slightly, feeling dizzy, but ignored it as she headed out of the dim tavern and into the bright street.

A man passed by her, heaving a cart of oysters behind him. One of his wheels splashed into a puddle, sending dirty water spraying up against the hem of her silk dress. Rivka stumbled back into Ser Barristan, taken aback by how ill at ease she felt out on the street. Part of her yearned for the safety and comfort of Robert's chambers, high above the rest of the city, but she shook the thought from her mind as Shae led her up to the brothel.

The moans washed over her like a comfort blanket, making her feel oddly at home. She didn't stay in the lower levels for long, but quickly took the stairs up to the third floor where her mother and Shae slept and a more formal environment to look over the business was doing. She marveled at how she felt winded by the time they finished climbing the stairs, but did her best to hide it. "How many whores do we actually-"

A sudden, loud banging sound interrupted Rivka's question. She glanced backwards toward the door where Barristan also looked, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. Rivka looked back toward Shae, wondering if this was a regular occurrence, but the girl looked equally clueless. When nothing else seemed to follow, the trio relaxed slightly, but then the screaming started.

"You have to go," Ser Barristan told her, his hand like a vice on her arm, gripping so tightly she might've screamed in any other circumstances. "Is there another way out of here?" Shae shook her head, pulling a small blade out from somewhere at her thigh. "You can't fight them, can't you hear how many sets of feet there are?"

Rivka tried to listen, to hear what he was hearing, but her ears were ringing as she stared at the door, waiting for it to burst open. She stumbled back and away from the door now as the footsteps grew so loud she could hear them over the ringing, and she could hear the muffled voices that followed. Barristan pulled out his sword and stood in front of her, but there was little need for it now as she ran back towards one of the open windows.

"Rivka-" Shae called for her, grabbing her arm, but Rivka pulled out of it sharply, climbing into the window frame and surveying her surroundings. There weren't any rooftops close enough for her to reach from there, but if she-

Another much louder bang startled her so much she nearly lost her footing and she knew they'd broken in. "There she is!" a deep voice shouted. "Grab her!"

She spun around, still on the windowsill, and caught sight of at least eight men in the room along with Barristan, and quickly pulled herself up onto the roof. Or at least she tried to. Her arms trembled with her extra weight and she couldn't lift herself any higher. At least until Shae's arms wrapped around her legs and heaved her upwards, giving her enough of a boost she could pull herself the rest of the way up.

As soon as she was secure on the roof she turned around and extended a hand down to help pull Shae up along with her. But Shae wasn't there anymore and a large man stood in her place, climbing up onto the windowsill and reaching to pull himself up alongside her.

She jerked her hand back to her chest, shuffling back further onto the roof before standing atop it. She wobbled where she stood and could feel herself starting to slip before she kicked off her shoes, letting them fall three stories to the ground. Her stomach churned watching how long they fell before hitting the ground, but her resolve steeled as her toes curled around the roof, stabilizing her. Instincts came back in a flash and she was soaring, moving from one roof to the next, leaving her pursuer far behind.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yikes, that was a delay! I've been busy traveling and then moving continents so all of my writing sort of fell off, but I'm settled in now and hope to get back on a more regular schedule! :)

 **Special thanks to:**

 _Guest:_ Here's what happens next! :P Hope you enjoy!

 _Miss Luny:_ Aaahhh thanks for the review! Sorry it took so long, but hopefully you enjoy! And yes, baby soon. :)

 _Artemis Persephone Jackson:_ I tried to make the concept fairly unique, hopefully you like reading it!

 _Dreamy-Girl2016:_ Aaahhh no, I let you down with the long time waiting! I'll make it up to you with more protective Robert next chapter. :)

 _Tybolt Silver:_ As always, thanks for the review! You're right, Rivka's definitely never spent too much time reading, but she would always want to. Her skill and relevance comes from knowing things, so she's always trying to learn more. The reason she picked the book about Targaryens was to learn more about the family to try to understand what Viserys and Dany may do in the future. Everything she does has a motivation towards keeping Robert (and by extension, herself) safe cause like you said … even Kings make mistakes. And Robert is definitely making quite a few.


	13. A Drop in the Bucket

Time moved by achingly slow whenever you desired a quick answer. For hours she had sat staring at the wall, as the sun sat high in the sky and slowly fell, with little sound to distract her but the pacing of Robert's feet as he did laps around his chambers, less content to sit patiently than she was. But he was a man of action and it had taken all of her power over him to keep him inside those chambers when all he wanted to do was tear every last Lannister he could get his hands on limb from limb.

It was fortunate that Rivka was less keen on the art of doing. She was less certain of Tywin Lannister's hand in this than Robert. Though she was certain the man would delight in her passing, she suspected him a fair bit too clever to act so boldly the same day his son was flogged. She suspected someone had used the tension between the Lannisters and the crown, and Robert's inclination to acting before thinking, to get away with an assassination no one would ever suspect them of.

To say that Robert was growing impatient by sundown was a vast understatement. She had begged him for weeks to visit her mother and he had finally conceded, against his better judgment. To have her returned to him tattered and terrified was more than enough for him to incite a war against the lot of those yellow haired cunts. But she had begged him to wait and he had little power to refuse her.

As servants poured into his chambers to light the candles, he'd had enough. He had every intention of telling her so when he saw one of the servants, a boy that looked no older than seven or eight, squat down beside her and whisper in her ear. The message he delivered was a short one as he rose just as quickly, collecting the used plates off of their table before following the rest of the servants back out.

Robert watched him go, wondering if he could make the boy's face if he ever saw him again before deciding he couldn't, then turned back around to see Rivka on her feet at last. "Well?" he demanded.

"It wasn't Tywin," she said, relief washing over her to finally be able to say for certain. Her feelings towards Jaime Lannister were … complicated, to say the least, and she had hoped to avoid his death.

Robert's jaw tightened at the news. To know that he had enemies even more emboldened than Tywin Lannister did not please him. He wondered briefly if it had been a strike from the Dornish, but he had always suspected more subtlety from them, as Oberyn Martell was known for a talent with poisons. "Who," he said shortly.

"It doesn't matter who," said Rivka. The whispers came with the knowledge that they'd burnt her home to the ground. That everything and everyone who had been inside it was gone. She could not be certain about the fates of Ser Barristan or Shae, but every whore was dead. Her mother was dead. She had expected some sort of grief to pass over her at the loss, but she couldn't feel much of anything. "It will happen again and again. Your guards and your knights will not protect me."

"No," he agreed. "They will not." Rivka thought for a moment he sounded as defeated as she felt. "My name should do a much better job."

Rivka Baratheon. Lady Baratheon. Your Grace. Her Majesty Lady Rivka Baratheon. Oh, what an upgrade that would be from her usual monikers. Knights of the Kingsguard didn't assault the queen in the streets of Flea Bottom. The queen's maiden's blood was not sold to the highest bidder. "I expect it would," she said.

Robert looked at her for another long moment before turning on his heel, leaving her alone in his chambers.

* * *

The High Septon was monstrously fat, looking as if he'd eaten the last couple he'd married. Rivka may have told him so had she not been so preoccupied with the rest of it. They'd taken her outside, down into the gardens, though it was so dark she struggled to see until they came upon an assembly of torches where the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, awaited, alongside a young girl whose red hair flickered in the firelight.

Jon had a black cloak in his hands, with golden trim, and what Rivka thought appeared to be the Baratheon sigil etched into it, as he stepped closer to Robert as he approached. "I have no cloak for a girl with no family," he told his king.

"Then she'll go without one," replied Robert, grabbing the cloak from Jon's hands and giving it a pull, but the older man held onto it.

"This is a mistake, Robert," he urged. "This will bring nothing but chaos to the realm. Be done with this girl and marry Cersei Lannister."

Absent a verbal response, Robert pulled the cloak more sharply and it slipped from Jon Arryn's grasp. Jaw set, Robert turned to her, dropping the heavy cloak over her shoulders so suddenly she swayed under the weight of it. Unaccustomed to Westerosi marriage customs, she gave him a startled look before pulling it more firmly over her shoulders, appreciating the warmth of it, though she had always heard brides wore white on their wedding days, not cloaks.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one …" Rivka gaped up at the High Septon as Robert grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers between her own. She shifted her gaze to him instead, but found his attention firmly on their hands as the septon roped a cloth around them before placing his own hands against them. "For eternity." He stepped back and away from them now. "Look upon each other and say the words."

Hand still in hers, Rivka could feel Robert turning toward her and matched his movements, her eyes wide and panicked. "Father," he began.

"Father," she echoed after him, scrambling through the deepest chambers of her brain as she tried to remember the Seven.

"Smith, Warrior," Robert continued, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as she struggled to repeat the words after him, though they were meant to be said in unison. "Mother, Maiden, Crone-"

"Stranger," she said quickly, beating him to it for the last.

"I am hers and she is mine."

"I am her-his and he is mine."

"From this day," he coached, "until the end of my days."

A stirring in her breast caused her to hesitate for the briefest of moments, wondering if she was dreaming this all in her head. If she'd died back at the brothel and this was the afterlife she had somehow managed to earn. Robert squeezed her hand gently, bringing her back to him. "From this day until the end of my days."

She had been in his chambers with him not an hour before and felt completely at all, but now she felt on edge. Hovering nervously at the window as he filled himself a goblet of wine, looking nearly as anxious as she did. There was nothing for her to be anxious for, realistically. Now was when the bedding ceremony ought to have been taking place, but she was as round as the sun. The baby would be coming any day now and she did not think Robert wanted to help it along.

She flinched as his hand found her shoulder, large and warm and a greater comfort than he'd ever know out on the balcony that night. She could only reminisce to the times when she would teeter on her feet in his presence, always ready to flee should he grow too near. What a difference a year made. "You should rest," he told her. "You've had a very long day."

"I need to speak with Tywin Lannister," she said, wincing when she realized what an unromantic topic that was for a wedding night that had already felt very strictly like business.

"Not fucking likely," came the swift response. She made no attempts to hide her smile as she glanced up at him. "Tomorrow, if you must. I'll go with you."

"Not fucking likely," she repeated. "Things will go more smoothly without a great oaf about to muck it up."

"You should not speak to your oafish husband in such a way," he grumbled, his thumb rubbing up and down the length of her neck for the briefest moment before he guided her away from the balcony and back towards his bed. Their bed now, she supposed.

Her grin faded into something softer, something shy, as the same peculiar feeling fluttered in her chest. When had pragmatism made way for a lovestruck little girl? That day had been one of the longest of her life. Her life had been threatened. Her best and possibly only friend was missing and presumed dead. Her mother was dead. Her home and everything she'd worked for was naught but ashes, and yet … it all felt like a drop in the bucket compared with the raging contentedness that filled her. "Robert," she said.

"Mmm," he replied, heavy hand resting against her belly now as he held her against him, his beard tickling against the nape of her neck.

"I love you, too," she told him.

* * *

How long had she been sitting in Tywin Lannister's chambers? It could not have been more dissimilar to the light, airy chambers she and Robert resided in, but dark and foreboding and all she saw were lions everywhere she looked. Had it been hours, days, years? Had generations lived and died while she sat waiting for this insipid man to finish writing his letter? Who sat atop the Iron Throne now that Robert had surely died of old age?

She had been let in by one of his guards. He knew she was there. She knew he knew she was there. And yet, here they both sat, in surprisingly comfortable silence, at least as far as he seemed concerned. Rivka herself wondered if his goal was to lull her defenses by putting her to sleep. He was certainly succeeding, she thought crankily, her eyelids feeling heavy.

It was only when she genuinely started to drift off did she realize he had finally set his finished letter aside, and that she held his full attention. She sat up sharply, straightening her posture under the cool gaze. Even then he didn't speak, choosing instead to watch her carefully, studying her. Rivka felt as though he was looking through her, inside her, into her every thought, her every weakness. "Your Grace," he began slowly, drawing out every syllable, "to what do I owe a visit from my queen."

It wasn't a question. He wasn't trying to find answers. He knew exactly why she was there. But like any cat, large or small, he liked to play with his food before devouring it. But Rivka was a rat, not a meek, little mouse. Rats were more difficult to choke down. "News travels quickly," she noted. They'd only been wed eight hours prior and no announcement had been made.

"There are many interested in the goings on of their king," he murmured in response. "And many more who will take an interest in their new queen."

"And in their future prince or princess," she continued, watching him closely to discern any sort of reaction but he revealed nothing. "And in who shall sit beside them atop the Iron Throne when Robert's time has passed."

"A position that has already been filled," he said, "has it not?"

Of course he'd heard of Robert's plans to marry their child off to a Tyrell. She made a mental note to ask Robert who he'd told later. It was important to know if there was a leak or if he had little birds of his own listening. "Things have changed," she explained.

"Assassination attempts often change things," he agreed.

Rivka struggled to keep her face impassive, wondering if this was speculation or a confirmation of what she'd already known. It had been the Tyrells she'd suspected, but she had no proof. Did Tywin Lannister somehow know more? "An alliance with the crown would be preferable to your current situation, would it not?"

Preferable to her own, as well. She would sleep easier knowing House Lannister's elevation depended entirely on her surviving through childbirth.

* * *

 **A/N:** Took me almost three months to update the last chapter and a little over three days to update this one. Not sure if that's a good thing. Please do let me know if my writing is waning or feels too rushed. I may have to go through and update some of these later chapters to make sure they're well done.

 _Special thanks to:_

 _ **Tybolt Silver:**_ I'm surprised you don't think Robert is making fatal blunders now! I've always tried to write Robert as the warrior king - strong enough to get away with his mistakes, but he's pretty terrible at the game. He'll never be able to play the game as well as Tywin and you're right, these things likely will come back to bite him in the ass.

Thank you as always for the review! I lowkey gushed at being called a 'brilliant writer'. Someone put that on my tombstone. :P

 _ **Goldenrainbow2:**_ I love when I can answer someone's question in the chapter! Yes, he does marry her before she gives birth. :P As for why he let her out … he's an idiot? Definitely won't be happening again. Thanks so much for the review! :)

 _ **Dreamy-Girl2016:**_ Don't worry, I have no plans of ever abandoning this one. I've got how it ends envisioned too perfectly in my mind to never write it down. Thanks for the review! :)


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